~ . - v 


4 • 








j-* ’«*• 


■-»'•*- i A-* • , ' 

- - ♦ ■ « -« • * ■« . jmr- «f -<* • «• *. ■ , -t j «f 1 • , > m t ‘ a * 

- r/ ■« - < f ' 

4 - . ftJPM , *. A i •’ / - * 

« *<• • • s \ • . .4 

" - *.•■•« ... 

*■ * • ■» 

• ' * ti « „ - ^ 

• • p ' • « ,-# • * 4 • 

■> - 4 • |l '• 

1 . - - . . . *, 

* 

• -• •• ^ », . ' « 

i •• I # ■*! •»..'• * "* V • -f* . • 1 • , 

- -i - ••. • « ** • • »> . I • 

.. .. 

. '• - .. • . 










.... - 








•/ 






.'9^- 


• - x/ S .4 


►v~‘« »•- <J ip - 1 i 

X-dcI-f i*r^« :J;u 
r c t !»f » v 

-»l* f »• *••' ^17 A14. 




IV 



















Book 




r :-K 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 






i 




> 
































♦ 






















































































































KATE PLUS 10 



KATE PLUS 10 


BY 

EDGAR WALLACE 

• « 

Author of 

** The Clue of the Twisted Candle, ” etc. 


WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY 

Charles H. Towne 



BOSTON 

SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright, 1917 

By SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 

(incorporated) 



SEP -7 1917 


Jfrtntpra 

6. J. Pakkhih & Co., Boston, U.8.A, 


©CU473388 

(> 

K 


CHAPTER 

CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I 

Eighty-three pearls on a 

STRING . 

I 

II 

Mike said nothing — there was 

NOTHING TO SAY 

28 

III 

Other eyes watched Michael . . 

42 

IV 

“The ideal Criminal is a 
gist ” 

STRATE- 

56 

V 

A Chorus Girl at Sebo’s . 

. 

74 

VI 

Kate came to the flat . 

. 

37 

VII 

The Princess Bacheffski — 

FULLY DRESSED . . . . 

- BEAUTI- 

ii 5 

VIII 

An artist makes an exhibition of 

HIMSELF 

129 

IX 

The shareholders and an inter- 
ruption 

146 

X 

Sir Ralph lost a princess and 

FOUND A POLICEMAN 

162 

XI 

Lady Moya was curiously 

herself 

UNLIKE 

174 

XII 

A MOTOR CAR WAS MET BY A 

TRAIN 

SPECIAL 

198 


CHAPTER 

XIII 

XIV 

XV 

XVI 

XVII 

XVIII 

XIX 


CONTENTS 

The chronology of a great theft 
The remarkable train that did 

STRANGE TRICKS 

As Sir Ralph said, “Business is 
Business ” 

On the unmorality of profession- 
al THIEVES 

THE INDEPENDENT STRATEGY OF SENOR 

Gregori 

The colonel was a gentlemen at 

THE LAST 

Michael developed a fondness for 

THE CRIMINAL CLASSES .... 


PAGE 

214 

229 

245 

258 

271 

283 

296 


KATE PLUS 10 



• » 


KATE PLUS 10 


CHAPTER I 

EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS ON A STRING 

The Earl of Flanborough pressed a bell push by 
the side of his study table and, after an interval 
of exactly three seconds, pressed it again, though 
the footman’s lobby could not have been far short 
of fifty yards from the library and the serving 
man was never born who could sprint that dis- 
tance in three seconds. 

Yet, in such awe was his lordship held that 
morning by his man-servants, his maid-servants 
and everything within his gates, that Sibble, the 
first footman, made the distance in five. 

“Why the dickens don’t you answer my bell 
when I ring?” snapped the Earl and glared at 
his red-faced servant. 


l 


2 


KATE PLUS 10 


Sibble did not reply, knowing by experience 
that, even as silence was insolence, speech couLd 
be nothing less than impertinence. 

Lord Flanborough was slightly over middle 
age, thin, bald and dyspeptic. His face was 
mean and insignificant and if you looked for any 
resemblance to the somewhat pleasant faces of the 
Feltons and Flanboroughs of past generations 
which stared mildly or fiercely, or (as in the case 
of the first Baron Felton and Flanborough, a poet 
and contemporary of Lovelace) with gentle mel- 
ancholy from their massive frames in the long 
hall, you looked in vain. For George Percy 
Allington Felton, Earl of Flanborough, Baron 
Felton and Baron Sedgely of Waybrook, was 
only remotely related to the illustrious line of 
Feltons and had inherited the title and the heavily 
mortgaged estates of his great-uncle by sheer bad 
luck. This was the uncharitable view of truer 
Feltons who stood, however, more remotely in the 
line of succession. 

Lord Flanborough had been Mr. George Felton 
of Felton, Heinrich and Somes, a firm which con- 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS 


S 


trolled extensive mining properties in various 
parts of the world, and the one bright spot in his 
succession to the peerage lay in the fact that he 
brought some two millions sterling to the task of 
freeing the estates of their encumbrances. 

He was a shrewd man and an unpleasant man, 
but he had never been so objectionably unpleas- 
ant until he assumed the style and title of Flan- 
borough and never so completely and impossibly 
unpleasant in the period of his lordship as he 
had been that morning. 

“Now, what did I want you for?” asked Lord 
Flanborough in vexation. “I rang for something 
— if you had only answered at once instead of 
dawdling about, I should — ah, yes — tell Lady 
Moya that I wish to see her.” 

Sibble made his escape thankfully. 

Lord Flanborough pulled at his weedy mous- 
tache and looked at the virgin sheet of paper be- 
fore him. Then he took up his pen and wrote : 

“Lost or Stolen: Valuable pearl chain 
consisting of eighty-three graduated pearls. 
Any person giving information which will 


4 


KATE PLUS 10 


lead to their recovery will receive a reward 
of two hundred pounds.” 

He paused; scratched out “two hundred 
pounds” and substituted “one hundred pounds.” 
This did not satisfy him and he altered the sum 
to “fifty pounds.” He sat considering even this 
modest figure and eventually struck out that 
amount and wrote, “will be suitably rewarded.” 
He heard the door click and looked up. 

“Ah — Moya. I am just tinkering away at an 
advertisement,” he said with a smile. 

The Lady Moya Felton was twenty-two and 
pretty. She re-collected in her admirable person 
many of the traditional family graces which had 
so malignantly avoided her parent. Well-shaped 
and of a gracious carriage, though no more than 
medium in height, the face with its delicacy of 
moulding was wholly Felton. If the stubborn 
chin, the firm mouth and the china-blue eyes had 
come from the dead and gone Sedgelys, the hair 
of bronze gold was peculiarly Feltonesque. 

When she spoke, however, the carping critic 
might complain that her voice lacked the rich 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS 


5 


quality upon which the family prided itself, for 
the Feltons were orators in those days when a 
parliamentary speech read like something out of 
a book. Moya’s voice was a trifle hard and with- 
out body; it was also just a little unsympathetic. 
Lord Flanborough boasted with good cause that 
his daughter was a “practical little woman” and 
at least one man beside her father could testify 
to this quality. 

“Dear, don’t you think it is a little absurd — 
advertising?” asked the girl. 

She seated herself at the other side of the desk 
and, reaching out her hand, opened a silver box 
and helped herself to one of her father’s cigar- 
ettes. 

“Why absurd, darling?” asked Lord Flanbor- 
ough testily; “lost property has been found before 
now, by means of advertising. I remember years 
ago when I was in the city, there was a fellow 
named Goldberg — ” 

“Please forget all about the city for a moment,” 
she smiled, lighting her cigarette, “and review all 
the circumstances. Firstly, I had the pearls when 


KATE PLUS 10 


I was at Lady Machinstones’ house. I danced 
with quiet, respectable people — Sir Ralph Sapson, 
Sir George Felixburn, Lord Fethington, Major 
Aitkens, and that awfully nice boy of Machin- 
stones. They didn’t steal them. I had the 
pearls when I left, because I saw them as I was 
fastening my fur cloak. I had them in the car 
because I touched them just before we reached the 
house. I don’t remember taking them off — but 
then I was dead tired and hardly remember going 
to bed. Obviously, Martin is the thief. She is 
the only person who has access to my room; 
she helped me undress; it is as plain as a pike- 
staff.” 

Lord Flanborough tapped his large teeth with 
his penholder, a practice of his which annoyed his 
daughter beyond words, though at the moment she 
deemed it expedient to overlook the fault. The 
loss had frightened her, for the pearls were worth 
three thousand pounds and she was one of those 
people whose standard of values had a currency 
basis. 

“I have asked Scotland Yard to send their very 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS J 

best man,” said Lord Flanborough importantly. 
“Where is Martini” 

“Locked in her room — I have told Fellows to 
sit outside her door,” said the girl, and then, inter- 
estedly, “When will the detective arrive*?” 

Lord Flanborough picked up an open telegraph 
form from the table. 

“'Sending Inspector Pretherston’ — by Jove!” 

He blinked across the desk at his daughter. 

“Pretherston,” she repeated thoughtfully; 
“isn’t it strange*?” 

“Pretherston — hum,” said her father and looked 
at her again. 

If he expected to see any confusion, any height- 
ening of color, even so much as a faltering of 
glance, he was relieved, for she met his gaze stead- 
fastly, save that there was a far-away look in her 
eyes and a certain speculative narrowing of lids. 

The romance was five years old, and if she cher- 
ished the memory of it, it was the charity which 
she might show to a favored piece in her china cup- 
board ; it was something to be taken out and dusted 
at intervals. Michael Pretherston was a bad 


8 


KATE PLUS 10 


match from every point of view, though his invalid 
cousin was a peer of the realm and Michael would 
one day be Pretherston of Pretherston. He was 
hideously poor, he was casual, he had no respect 
for wealth, he held the most outrageous views on 
the church, society and the state; he was, in fact, 
something as nearly approaching an anarchist as 
Lord Flanborough ever expected or feared to 
meet. 

His wooing had been brief but tempestuous. 
The girl had been overwhelmed and had given her 
promise. Recovering her reason in the morning 
and realizing (as she said) that love was not 
“everything,” she had written him a letter of 
fourteen pages in which she had categorically set 
forth the essential conditions to their union. 
These called for the abandonment of all his prin- 
ciples, the re-establishment of all his shattered 
beliefs and an estimate of the cost of placing 
Pretherston Court in a state of repair suitable for 
the reception of the Lady Moya Pretherston ( nee 
Felton). 

To her fourteen pages, he had returned a thirty- 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS 


9 


two page letter which was at once an affront and 
a justification for anarchy. It was not a love- 
letter; rather was it something between a pam- 
phlet by Henry George and a treatise by Jean 
Jacques Rousseau, interspersed with passionate 
appeals to her womanhood and offensive refer- 
ences to her “huckster-souled” father. 

“He was always a wild sort of chap,” said 
Lord Flanborough, shaking his head darkly. “I 
understood that he had gone abroad.” 

“I suppose there are other Pretherstons,” said 
the girl; “still it is strange, isn’t it?” 

“Do you ever feel . . began her father 
awkwardly. 

She smiled and laid down her cigarette on the 
crystal ash-tray. 

“He was wholly impossible,” she agreed. 

There came a gentle tap at the door and a girl 
entered. 

She was dressed neatly in black, and her pretti- 
ness was of a different type to that of her em- 
ployer (for Lady Moya indulged in the luxury of 
a secretary). It was a beautiful face with a 


10 


KATE PLUS 10 


hint of tragedy in the down-turned lips and, it 
seemed, a history of wild sorrow in her big grey 
eyes. Yet of sorrow she knew nothing, and such 
tragedy as she had met had left her unmoved. 
Her abundant hair was of a rich brown ; the hand 
that clasped a note-book to her bosom was small 
and artistic. She was an inch taller than Lady 
Moya, but because she did not show the same 
erectness of carriage she seemed shorter. 

“Father, you asked me to let you have Miss 
Tenby this morning,” said Lady Moya with a 
nod for the girl. “I don’t know whether you 
will still want her?” 

“I am so sorry this dreadful thing has hap- 
pened, Lord Flanborough,” said the girl in a 
low voice ; “it must be terrible to feel that there is 
a thief in the house.” 

Lord Flanborough smiled good-humoredly. 

“We shall recover the pearls, I am certain,” 
he said; “don’t let it worry you, Miss Tenby — I 
hope you are comfortable?” 

“Very, Lord Flanborough,” said the girl grate- 
fully. 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS 


11 


“And the work is not too hard, eh?” 

The girl smiled slightly. 

“It is nothing — I feel awfully ashamed of my- 
self sometimes. I have been with you a month 
and have hardly earned my salt.” 

“That’s all right,” replied his lordship with 
great condescension; “you have already been of 
the greatest assistance to me and we shall find you 
plenty of other work. I was glad to see you in 
church on Sunday. The vicar tells me that you 
are a regular attendant.” 

The girl inclined her head, but said nothing. 
For a while she waited and then at a word of 
polite dismissal, she left the library. 

“Deuced nice girl, that,” said his lordship ap- 
provingly. 

“She works well and quickly, and she can read 
French beautifully — I was very fortunate,” said 
Moya carelessly. “What were we talking about 
when she came in? Oh, yes — Michael Prether- 
ston. I wonder now — ” 

The door opened and a footman announced, 

“Inspector Pretherston, m’lord,” 


12 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Inspector Michael Pretherston, you silly ass,” 
corrected the annoyed young man in the door- 
way. 

It was Michael, then ! 

A little older, a little better-looking, a little 
more decisive — but Michael, as impetuous and 
irresponsible as ever. 

“He spoilt my entrance, Moya,” he laughed, 
as he came with rapid strides toward the girl; 
“how are you after all these years — as pretty as 
ever, confound you. Ah, Lord Flanborough, 
you’re wearing well — I read your speech in the 
House of Lords on the Shipping Bill — a fine 
speech; did you make it up yourself?” 

Moya laughed softly and saved what might 
have been a most embarrassing situation — for his 
lordship was framing a dignified protest against 
the suggestion that he had shared the honours of 
authorship. 

“You are not changed, Michael,” she said, 
looking at him with undisguised, but none the 
less, detached admiration; “but what on earth are 
you doing in the police force?” 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS 


13 


“Extraordinary,” murmured Lord Flanbor- 
ough, and added humorously, “and an anarchist, 
too.” 

“It is a long story,” said Michael. “I really 
received my promotion in the Special Branch — 
the Foreign Office Branch — and was transferred 
to the C. I. D. after we caught the Callam crowd, 
the Continental confidence tricksters. It is dis- 
graceful that I should be an inspector, isn’t it? 
But merit tells!” He chuckled again, then of a 
sudden grew serious. “I’m forgetting I’ve a job 
to do — what’s the trouble?” 

Lord Flanborough explained the object of his 
urgent call, and a look of disappointment ap- 
peared upon Michael Pretherston’s face. 

“A miserable little larceny,” he said reproach- 
fully. “I thought at least Moya had been kid- 
napped. Now, tell me all that happened on the 
night you lost the pearls.” 

Step by step the girl related her movements 
and the periods at which she had evidence that 
the pearls were still with her. 

“And then you reached your bedroom,” said 


14 


KATE PLUS 10 


Michael, “and what happened there? First of 
all, you took your fur wrap off.” 

“Yes,” nodded the girl. 

“Were you in a cheerful frame of mind or were 
you rather cross?” 

“Does that matter?” she asked in surprise. 

“Everything matters to the patient and system- 
atic officer of the law. Temperamental clues are 
as interesting and material as any other.” 

“Well, if the truth were told,” she confessed, 
“I was rather cross and very tired.” 

“Did you take your cloak off, or did your 
woman?” 

“I took it off myself,” she said after a pause, 
“and hung it up.” 

He asked her a few more questions. 

“Now, we will see the sorrowful Martin,” he 
said, “and let me tell you this, Moya, that if this 
girl is innocent she has grounds for action against 
you for false imprisonment.” 

“What do you mean?” demanded Lord Flan- 
borough with asperity. “I have a perfect right 
to detain anybody I think is guilty of theft.” 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS 


15 


“You have no more right to lock a woman in a 
room,” said the other calmly, “than I have to 
stand you on your head. But that is beside the 
point. Lead me to the prisoner.” 

The prisoner was very pale and very tearful; 
a middle-aged woman who felt her position 
acutely and between sobs and wails made an in- 
coherent protest of her innocence. 

“I suppose you have searched everywhere?” 
asked Michael, turning to the girl. 

“Everywhere,” she replied emphatically. “I 
have had every box and every corner of the room 
examined.” 

“Suppose the string of the pearls broke, would 
they all fall off?” 

“No, they would still remain on, because each 
pearl was secured. Father gave them to me as a 
birthday present and he was very particular on 
that point.” 

“I would like to bet,” said Michael suddenly, 
“that those pearls are not out of this room. Show 
me your wardrobe.” 

The girl’s wardrobe occupied the whole of one 


16 


KATE PLUS 10 


wall of her dressing-room, and the tearful Martin 
opened the rosewood doors for his inspection. 

“This is your fur cloak, I presume? Did you 
examine this after the loss?” 

“Examine the cloak,” said Lady Moya in sur- 
prise, “of course not. What has the cloak to do 
with the loss? There are no pockets in it.” 

“But if I know anything about the fur cloaks 
that are fashionable this season,” said Michael, 
wisely, “I should say that there is a possibility^ 
that this luxurious garment had a great deal to 
do with the loss. In fact, my dear Moya,” he 
said, “your mysterious loss has been duplicated 
and triplicated this year. In two cases the police 
were called in, and in the other case the owner 
had the intelligence to find her lost trinket with- 
out assistance.” 

He lifted the cloak down very carefully and 
opened it to show the silk lining and there, caught 
in one of the long flat hooks, dangled the pearls. 
The girl uttered an exclamation of delight and 
slipped them from its fastening. 

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” said Michael dryly. 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS 


17 


“That is what has happened, not three times but 
half-a-dozen times since these flat hooks have been 
introduced. Y ou take the cloak off in a bad tem- 
per, the hook catches the chain, breaks it, you 
bundle the cloak in your wardrobe and there you 
have the beginning of a great jewel mystery.” 

“I can’t tell you how delighted I am,” said 
the girl. “Michael, you’re wonderful !” 

Michael did not reply. He turned to the 
frightened waiting-woman with a kindly smile. 

“I am so sorry you have been worried about 
this, Mrs. Martin,” he said, “but when people lose 
very valuable property they are also inclined to 
lose their very valuable heads. I am sure Lady 
Moya is sorry and will make you due compensa- 
tion for any inconvenience you have been put to.” 

The girl stared at him resentfully. 

“Of course, I am awfully sorry, Martin,” she 
said, coldly. 

“Oh, my lady,” said the woman eagerly, “I am 
only too pleased that you have recovered your 
chain. The worry of it has made me quite ill.” 

“You can have a week’s holiday,” said Lord 


18 


KATE PLUS 10 


Flanborough, magnificently. “I will get you a 
free railway ticket to Seahampton,” he added. 

“So you see, Mrs. Martin,” said Michael with 
that bland air of his which scarcely veiled the 
sarcasm so irritating to his lordship, “your gen- 
erous employers will leave no stone unturned to 
minister to your comfort, regardless of expense. 
And when you are at Seahampton, Mrs. Martin, 
(I trust you will not lose the return half of your 
free ticket) you will be allowed to walk up and 
down the promenade on equal terms with the aris- 
tocracy and breathe the ozone which, ordinarily, 
is created for your betters. You may sit on the 
free seats and watch the pageant of life step past 
you and, reflecting upon the generosity of your 
betters, you may appreciate the good fortune 
which brought you into hourly contact with the 
aristocracy of England. And on Sundays, Mrs. 
Martin, you may go to church where quite a num- 
ber of the seats are also free and may even share 
a hymn-book with a Gracious Person who is so 
vastly above you in social standing that he will 
never recognize you again, and there, I trust, you 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS 


19 


will pray with a new fervence that the delibera- 
tions of the House of Lords may receive divine 
inspi ration.” 

“Oh, indeed I will, sir,” said Mrs. Martin al- 
most stunned by his eloquence. 

He left the woman, overwhelmed, and re- 
turned with a very ruffled Lord Flanborough and 
an indignant Moya to the library. 

“What utter nonsense you talk, Michael,” said 
the girl angrily. “I don’t think it was kind of 
you to attempt to set my servants against me.” 

“Beastly bad taste,” said Lord Flanborough, 
“and really, Pretherston, you came here as an offi- 
cer of the law and not as an old acquaintance and 
I think that you exceed your duties, if you don’t 
mind my saying so.” 

“Old acquaintances,” said Michael, picking up 
his hat and his coat from a chair where he had 
put them before the interview, “are especially 
made to be forgotten, a peculiarity of which one 
* is reminded in that Bacchanalian anthem which 
is sung at all public dinners where sobriety is bad 
form. I was merely endeavouring to inculcate 


go 


KATE PLUS 10 


into the mind of your slave a few moral princi- 
ples, beneficial to you, and to society. 5 ’ 

“Don’t tell me that,” growled Lord Flanbor- 
ough, “as though I didn’t recognize your sar- 
casm.” 

“Children and the lower orders never recog- 
nize sarcasm,” said Michael with a broad smile. 

He held out his hand and somewhat reluctantly 
his lordship extended his own flabby paw. 

“Before I go,” he said, “I suppose I had better 
take a full account of this case. You haven’t a 
secretary or anybody to whom you can dictate 
the circumstances? You see I have to make a 
report to my cold-blooded superiors.” 

Moya had reached the stage where whatever 
remains there was in her friendship with Michael 
Pretherston had not only died but had been cre- 
mated in the fires of her smothered anger and she 
was as anxious to see the end of this interview as 
was her father. 

“Perhaps you will ring for Miss Tenby,” she 
said after a pause. 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS 


21 

Her father pressed the bell and the waiting Sib- 
ble answered it. 

“Send Miss Tenby,” said his lordship. 

“And I do hope, Michael,” said the girl se- 
verely, “that when Miss Tenby is here you will 
not make such extravagant comments as you did 
before Martin.” 

“Miss Tenby,” interposed Lord Flanborough, 
“will not welcome such talk. She is a young girl 
with — er — ” 

“I know, I know,” said Michael solemnly, “she 
is genteel. She does forty words a minute on the 
typewriter and goes to church, filling in her odd 
moments with needlework and accompanying you 
on the piano.” 

“It must be a wonderful thing to be a detect- 
ive,” said Moya, sarcastically; “as a matter of 
fact Miss Tenby is one of the fastest typists in the 
world.” 

Michael swung round on her with an odd look 
on his face. 

“Fastest typists in the world,” he repeated with 


KATE PLUS 10 


all the humor gone out of his tone; “does she 
sing?” 

It was the girl’s turn to be astonished. 

“Yes, she does, and very beautifully.” 

“Does she prefer Italian opera?” he asked. 

At this, the girl laughed aloud. 

“Somebody has been telling you all about her 
and you are trying to be mysterious,” she ac- 
cused. 

Further conversation was cut short by the arri- 
val of the girl, who walked in, closed the door 
and came straight to the desk. She stopped dead 
at sight of Michael. Moya saw the meeting, saw 
the girl stiffen and her sorrowful eyes fixed upon 
the detective’s face. 

“Why, Kate !” said Michael Pretherston softly. 
“Well, well, well ! and to think that we meet again 
under such noble auspices.” 

Miss Tenby said nothing. 

“And what is the great game?” asked Michael, 
banteringly. “What beautiful impulse brought 
you to this sheltered home and how is the Colonel 
and friend Gregori and all those dear boys? By- 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS 23 

the-way, the Colonel must be out by now, Kate. 
What did he get, three years?” 

Still Miss Tenby made no reply. 

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded 
Lord Flanborough, feeling that the moment had 
arrived to assert himself. “Do you know this 
lady?” 

“Do I know her,” said Michael, ecstatically; 
“why, I am one of her greatest admirers, aren’t I, 
Kate?” 

The girl’s sad face softened to a smile which 
showed the regular lines of her white teeth. She 
spoke and her voice was gentle and appealing. 

“It is perfectly true, Lord Flanborough,” she 
said quietly, “Mr. Pretherston knows me. He 
also knows that my uncle, Colonel Westhanger, 
has been mixed up in a very serious scandal which 
brought him within the reach of the law. It is 
perfectly true that when I was a little girl I was 
known as Kate. It is just as true that I am try- 
ing now to live down my association with law- 
breakers and am trying to rehabilitate myself in 
the world.” 


KATE PLUS 10 


24 

“H’m,” murmured Lord Flanborough, a little 
taken back, “very creditable.” 

Moya turned to Michael indignantly. 

“I suppose that you think you are rendering a 
great service to the world in trying to drag this 
poor girl down to the gutter, in exposing her to 
her employers and in obtaining her dismissal from 
honest employment.” 

“I do,” said Michael shamelessly. 

“I think it is a barbarous thing to do!” said 
Moya angrily. 

She had not yet decided in her own mind as to 
what steps she would take in face of this revela- 
tion. In view of her own character, it is possi- 
ble that “Miss Tenby” would have a very short 
shift at her hands. But for the moment the op- 
portunity for the display of benevolence and 
Christian charity was not to be passed over. She 
saw the girl’s appealing eyes and clasped hands 
and, for a moment, she felt a sincere thrill of 
pity for a brave sister struggling to escape the 
octopus tentacles of law and crime; for a mo- 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS 25 

ment she felt a genuinely unselfish desire to help 
another. 

If she expected Inspector the Hon. Michael 
Pretherston — for such was his incongruous title — 
to wilt under her reproaches, she was disappointed. 
Michael had not taken his eyes from the secre- 
tary, nor had the twinkle in those eyes abated. 
He nodded to “Miss Tenby. ,, 

“Kate,” he said, “you are really a wonder, and 
to think that you have never yet come into the 
clutches of the law until now.” 

“Until now,” said the girl quickly, raising her 
voice. 

He nodded. 

“The Prevention of Crimes Act,” murmured 
Michael. “I can take you,” — he emphasized the 
“can” — “on a charge of obtaining employment 
with forged letters of recommendation, also with 
being a Suspected Person.” 

The girl dropped her attitude of humility, 
threw back her head and laughed, showing her 
even white teeth. 


26 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Oh, you Mike!” she railed him. “Oh, you 
busy fellow !” 

Her amusement did not last long for instantly 
her face was set again and the grey eyes blazed 
with rage. 

“One of these days you will be too clever,” 
she said bitterly. “I have seen better men than 
you and cleverer men than you go out, Michael 
Pretherston. You and your Prevention of 
Crimes Act! You can’t put that bluff over me. 
The Act does not come into operation until you 
have a conviction against my name, and that you 
will never get, you brute !” 

“Kate, Kate !” murmured Michael. “There’s a 
lady present.” 

She nodded. 

“I guess I’ll get my kit together,” she said ; “it 
hasn’t been exactly a holiday trip.” 

“My sympathies are entirely with you,” said 
Michael; “it must have been awfully dull after 
the gay orgies of Crime Street.” 

“There is one thing I have always wanted to 


EIGHTY-THREE PEARLS 27 

know,” said the girl, pinching her lip thought- 
fully. 

She walked to the desk, and Lord Flanborough 
was too much taken back to arrest her progress. 
Without a word she opened the silver box on 
the table and took out a cigarette. 

“I have always wanted to know what kind of 
dope this dear old gentleman smoked.” 

She looked at the cigarette critically and with 
an exclamation of disgust threw it back on the 
desk. 

“Gold Flavours!” she said scornfully; “can 
you beat it, Mike*? And he has a hundred thou- 
sand a year!” 

“You must make allowances for the decadence 
of the governing classes,” said the soothing 
Michael. 

He turned and nodded farewell to the girl and 
with Miss Tenby’s arm in his he passed out of 
the room, and Lord Flanborough and his daugh- 
ter looked at one another in speechless amaze- 


ment. 


CHAPTER II 


MIKE SAID NOTHING THERE WAS NOTH- 

ING TO SAY 

“You might do worse than lunch with me,” said 
Michael Pretherston. 

He stood outside Felton House with the girl 
whose belongings in one small Gladstone bag had 
been deposited on the curb, pending the arrival 
of a taxi-cab. 

“Why should I lunch with you*?” she asked 
insolently. “I thought you were going to pinch 
me.” 

“Your vulgarity is appalling!” said Michael, 
shaking his head in reproof. “I cannot pinch 
you in the vulgar sense. I have no desire to per- 
form that operation in the corporeal sense. You 
had better compromise and lunch with me.” 

The girl hesitated. 

“Think of my reputation,” she said. 

28 


MIKE SAID NOTHING 


29 


“Thoughts of your reputation keep me awake 
at night,” answered Michael lightly and called a 
taxi. 

They found a little restaurant in Soho and in 
an underground cellar where the bad ventilation 
was compensated for by a blaze of light, they ate 
their simple meal. 

“Now, Kate, I want to ask you what your little 
game is,” said Michael; “and I need the informa- 
tion because I know it isn’t a little game.” 

“I was scared sick over those pearls,” said the 
girl, ignoring the question. “It would have been 
horrible bad luck to have been taken for a job 
I had nothing to do with and such a paltry job, 
too !” 

“You owe me something,” said Michael. 

“I owe you more than I can ever repay you,” 
said the girl significantly. 

“I suppose one of these days,” suggested the 
detective after an interval of thought, “you will 
instruct some of your hired pals, Gregori or the 
Colonel or little Stockmar, to inflict on me a pain- 
ful injury.” 


30 


KATE PLUS 10 


“You !” said the girl scornfully. “If there were 
not men like you in the police we should have 
been destroyed years ago! You are a sort of an 
insurance scheme and it pays us to keep you alive 
and well. Why, Crime Street would go into 
mourning the day you were buried. ,, 

“You are not trying to be rude to me, are 
you?” he asked. 

She looked at him slyly from under her long 
lashes and her eyes were dancing with fun. 

“Why do you think I went to Lord Flanbor- 
ough?” she asked. 

He shook his head. 

“I’m blessed if I know,” he confessed. “Of 
course, I knew it was you the moment I heard of 
the rapid typewriting and the Italian songs. Now 
listen : I am not trying to speak to you for your 
good. ...” 

“Don’t !” she said laconically. 

“But I have often wondered why a well-edu- 
cated girl and a nice girl, as far as I know to 
the contrary, should prefer the life of a crook 
to. . . ” 


MIKE SAID NOTHING 


81 


“To earning £2 or £3 a week and working all 
day to earn it, 55 she finished for him; “to living 
my life in one little room on a top floor in Blooms- 
bury, waiting my turn every morning for my bath. 
To being made love to by the assistant manager 
and sacrificing my immortal soul for a half-a- 
crown dinner and a bottle of red wine! It is 
funny, isn’t it! I have had the experience for 
professional purposes and I don’t like it a bit, 
Mike.” 

She looked at him straight in the eyes. She 
had dropped her air of flippancy, her slang; the 
voice that spoke was not to be distinguished from 
that of any other gentlewoman. 

“You see, a woman is differently circumstanced 
to a man. She wants nice things and her attitude 
toward life, and indeed the whole of her conduct, 
depends entirely upon the degree of niceness she 
requires. Men don’t do things for women for 
nothing. They lend to their men friends all the 
money in the world and are grateful if they get it 
back. They expect nothing more than their 
money and are surprised when they get it. But 


KATE PLUS 10 


if I were a typist in a city office and I borrowed 
£2 from the assistant manager or from the chief 
bookkeeper or a fiver from one of the partners, 
why, Mike, I should be booked for supper on 
Wednesday. Men want more from women than 
a quid pro quo ; they want two quid pro quo . In 
return for the £2 I borrowed, I should pay interest 
well outside the range of the multiplication table. 
Suppose a man lent you £2 and asked you in ex- 
change, not only to repay the money, but to re- 
nounce all your dearest principles for the sake of 
the loan; if he asked you to betray your friends, 
where you had been loyal to them, and lie, where 
you had been truthful; break your word where 
you had been faithful, be a thief where you had 
been honest? Would you surrender every reti- 
cence, every honourable instinct, every precious 
faith?” 

Mike said nothing. For there was nothing to 
say. He paid the bill and escorted the girl to 
a cab. 

“I am not going to be sorry for you,” he said; 
“you are having The Life. One of these days 


MIKE SAID NOTHING 


I shall come along and take you; but I shall hate 
it. Hop in, Kate!” 

Kate literally hopped into the waiting taxi, 
waved her hand in farewell and was gone. 

Michael Pretherston stood for fully five min- 
utes on the edge of the pavement, meditating upon 
what the girl had said. She had struck a respon- 
sive note in his soul, for she spoke no more than 
was the truth, as he knew. 

He went, a little sadly, back to headquarters, 
remembering en route that he had forgotten to 
write the report. Should he go back to the Y ard 
and compose it from memory or should he return 
to the unsympathetic atmosphere of Felton House? 
He decided upon the latter and surprised Lord 
FI anbo rough in the act of taking an afternoon 
nap. Michael was full of apologies and was so 
unusually respectful that his lordship forgot to 
be annoyed. 

“Moya’s out,” he explained. 

“I will endeavour to bear up,” replied Michael, 
seating himself at his lordship’s desk and pre- 
paring to take a note of the circumstances which 


34 


KATE PLUS 10 


had led to his lordship’s call for assistance. He 
finished the report, blotted and folded it and 
placed the document in his pocket. 

“I only want to ask you one or two questions 
and they concern Kate — or Miss Tenby, as you 
call her. I’m afraid I gave you a shock this 
morning.” 

“It was certainly a surprise,” admitted Lord 
Flanborough cautiously; “who is this Kate? We 
have made a very careful search of the house but 
nothing is missing so far as we can tell.” 

Michael laughed. 

“You needn’t worry about that. Kate is not 
a pilferer. Her real name is Katharine West- 
hanger; they call her Kate and she is the Colonel’s 
niece. Her age is eighteen or nineteen, and from 
a child she has been brought up to regard the 
world as her oyster. Her mother was a whole- 
some parson’s wife, her father was a rascal who 
was kicked out of the army in ’89 for an offence 
against the Law of Property. Her maternal 
grandfather was General Sir Shaun Masserfield, 
the greatest strategist the British army has ever 


MIKE SAID NOTHING 


35 


held — Kate inherits his genius but has not learnt 
his code. Her father died when she was a child 
and her uncle, who is a greater scoundrel than 
her father was — the family on the Westhanger 
side has a criminal history which goes back at in- 
tervals for two hundred years — completed her 
education. Kate has been brought up to be a 
thief, but a big thief. She is, I believe, the brains 
of the biggest criminal organisation in the world. 
Every member of the gang has been taken, but 
no evidence has ever been offered against Kate. 
She plans the big swindles and each one is bigger 
than the last — but never once have we traced the 
offence to her door.” 

“Why is it that the police — ?” began Lord 
Flanborough. 

“The police, my dear Flanborough, ” said 
Michael wearily, “are human beings who have to 
deal with human beings. They are not angels, 
nor thought readers, nor are they clairvoyant. 
The laws of this country are so framed that the 
criminal has six chances to every one possessed by 
his enemy. We know Kate was concerned in that 


36 


KATE PLUS 10 


big bank smashing exploit which took two million 
crowns from the treasury of the Bank of Holland. 
It was Kate who organised the raid upon the Lon- 
don jewellers in June of last year. Kate is the 
mother of Crime Street. You don’t know that 
thoroughfare, but one of these days I’ll introduce 
you to it, if you are curious — but I warn you that 
if you expect to steep your soul in sordidness, you 
will be disappointed — it is the most respectable 
street in London. Her ingenuity is remarkable, 
her patience beyond praise, and that is partly why 
I have come back : I want to know why she was 
here and what she was doing?” 

“As I say . . began Lord Flanborough again. 

“For Heaven’s sake,” interrupted Michael, 
“don’t tell me that you haven’t missed things! 
I tell you Kate would not touch a pin in your 
house. In the first place she is a well-off woman. 
Why in Heaven’s name should she bother her 
head about your belongings? I don’t suppose, if 
she had the full run of your house, she could 
find £100 worth of realisable property ! No, that 


MIKE SAID NOTHING 


37 

is not why Kate came to you. How long has she 
been here*?” 

“Nearly a month,” said Lord Flanborough, a 
little annoyed that the result of his own private 
investigations had so utterly failed to impress a 
representative of Scotland Yard. 

“What work has she been doing ?” 

“Ordinary secretarial work for Moya. She 
came with excellent letters of recommendation.” 

“You can forget those,” interrupted Michael 
testily; “the gentleman who wrote them lives at 
No. 9, Crime Street and his name is Millet.” 

“She was a wonderful typist,” began his lord- 
ship, who was seeking about in his own mind for 
some excuse which would explain why he had been 
deceived. 

“That I also know. She is, as you say, one of 
the fastest typists in the world. In fact, no as- 
pect of her education has been neglected. She 
speaks five languages and read French fluently 
when she was nine. What work has she done 
for you?” 


88 


KATE PLUS 10 


Lord Flanborough considered for a while. 

“She has copied a few letters and reports.” 

“What kind of reports 4 ?” 

“Reports from our South African companies. 
You see, Michael, I still retain the direction of 
most of my old interests.” 

“Were they very important — the reports, I 
mean 4 ?” 

“Yes and no,” replied Lord Flanborough 
slowly; “they were merely records of output, cost 
of production and projected shipments.” 

“On what other work was she employed 4 ?” 

“Let me think,” said Lord Flanborough. 

“I am letting you!” replied Michael tartly. 
“You used to have a very private code-book if I 
remember rightly.” 

“That is true,” said Lord Flanborough, “but of 
course, she did not see that.” 

“Where did you keep it?” 

“In my desk,” said Lord Flanborough. 

“Is it possible that she could have seen it?” 

“It is possible, but wholly impossible that she 
could have copied it.” 


MIKE SAID NOTHING 39 

‘Tor how long a time together was she left 
alone ?” 

“Five minutes was the longest period she was 
left in the library alone,” said his lordship after 
consideration. 

Michael fingered his chin. 

“Did you ever come into the library and find 
her in a semi-fainting condition?” he asked. 

Lord Flanborough looked at him with open- 
mouthed amazement. 

“Did she tell you?” 

Michael shook his head. 

“No, she has told me nothing. I gather from 
your question that there was such an occurrence?” 

“It is remarkable that you should ask the ques- 
tion,” said his lordship. “I did come in one 
morning to find the poor girl — er, the wretched 
girl, in a semi-fainting condition.” 

“And you went out and got her a glass of 
water and sent for your housekeeper, I suppose,” 
said Michael, his lip curling. 

“Yes, I did,” admitted his lordship. 

“Which means, in plain language,” smiled 


40 


KATE PLUS 10 


Michael, “that you surprised her in the act of 
examining some of your private documents and 
that whilst you were getting the water and call- 
ing assistance, she was replacing whatever she 
was looking at where she had found it. Did she 
on any other occasion draw your attention, on 
your entering the room, to some peculiar circum- 
stance, such as one of the pictures not hanging 
straight or a broken vase*?” 

Again Lord Flanborough looked astounded. 

“Yes, once she pointed to the china cupboard 
and asked me who cracked the glass. As a mat- 
ter of fact, the glass was not cracked at all,” he 
explained. 

“But you went over and examined it?” 

“Naturally,” said his lordship. 

“That was exactly the same trick,” said 
Michael; “whilst you were making your inspec- 
tion she was able to replace any documents she 
had been examining and close the drawer — if they 
were in a drawer. Now, I wonder what her 
game is?” 


MIKE SAID NOTHING 


41 


“You don’t suggest,” began his lordship in 
alarm, “that she is scheming to rob me 4 ?” 

“I hope not,” said Michael gravely; “from the 
idea of your being robbed, the imagination reels.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t be so sarcastic. I am 
afraid you have never quite forgiven Moya — ” 

“I bless Moya every time I think of her,” said 
Michael quickly; “she rendered me the greatest 
service that one human being can render to an- 
other, when she refused me. I hope to do better 
than Moya. As Moya’s father, you utter a 
pained protest. I know, I know,” said Michael, 
and he waved his hand cheerfully from the door. 


CHAPTER III 


OTHER EYES WATCHED MICHAEL 

Michael Pretherston was back at the Yard 
in time to catch his chief before he departed for 
the day. 

Commissioner T. B. Smith, to whose recom- 
mendation this young scion of the aristocracy owed 
his promotion, was not helpful. 

“If we took Kate on any charge it would not 
prevent the swindle going forward,” he said; “you 
may be sure she has mobilized all her resources 
and her little army is ready to the last button 
of the last gaiter. There is supposed to be a fel- 
low watching her all the time, but he seems to 
have missed her rather cleverly. Anyway, I 
don’t think there is much to be gained from 
shadowing her, because she knows she is under 
observation and acts accordingly. But I have 
a word of advice to you, my young Hibernian 

42 


OTHER EYES WATCHED MICHAEL 43 


friend, and that is to keep a sharp eye on your 
own precious life. Kate is afraid of you.” 

“She didn’t give me that impression this after- 
noon,” said Michael sadly. 

“Kate is a bluff; you mustn’t take any notice 
of what she says. You accept a friend’s advice 
and go very carefully to work. I am not so sure 
that you didn’t behave indiscreetly this after- 
noon.” 

“That is impossible !” said Michael stoutly, and 
T. B. Smith laughed. 

“The thing to have done was not to have rec- 
ognized her and to have kept her under observa- 
tion, pursuing your enquiries in the usual way.” 

“If you can suggest any method by which I 
could have prevented her from recognizing me 
and recognizing the fact that I recognized her I 
will admit that I was wrong,” and T. B. Smith 
agreed. 

“You may be right,” he said; “anyway, look 
after yourself.” 

Michael promptly forgot his chief’s advice and 
spent his evening making a solitary reconnaissance 


44 


KATE PLUS 10 


of Crime Street. Crime Street does not appear 
upon any plan of London, but if you will look 
at any large survey of the Hampstead district, 
you will find in a somewhat irregular tangle of 
buildings within a stone’s throw of the Heath, 
a curious oval which is conspicuous on the plan, 
not only by its own symmetry but by the grace- 
ful lines of the thoroughfares which radiate there- 
from. 

This is Amberscombe Gardens. The centre of 
the oval is occupied by four houses, Numbers 
Two, Four, Six and Eight; the northern side of 
the gardens by five houses, Numbers One, Three, 
Five, Seven and Nine. 

Into Amberscombe Gardens from the north run 
three roads, the first of which (opening into the 
oval between Numbers One and Three) being 
called The Approach; the second, dividing Num- 
bers Five and Seven, called Bethburn Avenue; the 
third between Numbers Seven and Nine, Coleburn 
Avenue. On the south side of the oval the ar- 
rangement of the streets is very similar. Origin- 
ally, the central space had been occupied by nine 


OTHER EYES WATCHED MICHAEL 45 


houses but these had been pulled down by the 
proprietors of the remaining four and a private 
garden, common to all four houses, had been laid 
out by the owners of these properties. So that 
on the southern side of the central oval, there were 
no buildings, but a wall bisected at regular in- 
tervals by plain garden doors which form such 
a common feature of London suburban residences. 

In reality, the roadway to the north and south 
of the plot is all Amberscombe Gardens, but the 
oval which curves round to the north was, at the 
period this story covers, known to the police as 
“Crime Street,” and in this description the nine 
houses on both sides of the northern curve were 
involved. 

Number One, the most modest of all the build- 
ings, was in the occupation of Dr. Philip Garon, 
an American practitioner who made frequent visits 
across the Atlantic and invariably returned to de- 
posit a very handsome surplus in the local branch 
of the London and Western Counties Bank. Dr. 
Garon was successful as a result of the sublime 
assurance of all ocean-going passengers, that the 


46 


KATE PLUS 10 


notice, conspicuously displayed in the smoking- 
room warning passengers not to play cards with 
strangers, did not apply to them. 

Number Three, a pretty house smothered in 
clematis in the proper season of the year, with its 
white window sashes and its sober red front, was 
the town house of Mr. Cunningham, who, appar- 
ently, had no initial and no Christian name. He 
was known to his intimate friends as Mush, the 
derivation of which is a little obscure. Mr. Cun- 
ningham described himself as independent, which 
meant no more than that he was independent of 
the ordinary necessities of making an honest liv- 
ing. In a sense, he was by far the best known 
of the Colony, for Mush had served two terms of 
penal servitude, one in an English and one in a 
French prison. He had the reputation of being 
able to cut holes in steel safes with a greater 
rapidity than any other gentleman in his profes- 
sion, and it is said, probably with truth, that he 
had improved upon the oxy-hydrogen jet and had 
introduced a new element which shortened the 
work by half. 


OTHER EYES WATCHED MICHAEL 47 


The tenant of Number Five was a gentleman, 
benign of countenance and very good to the poor. 
He was called the Bishop by friends and foes 
alike. His real name was Brown and he had 
been concerned in more bank swindles than any of 
the other colonists, though he had only one con- 
viction to his discredit and that a comparative 
flea-bite of nine months’ hard labour. 

The owner of Number Seven was described as 
“Mr. Colling Jacques, Civil Engineer,” in the lo- 
cal directories. The official police “Who’s Who” 
noted that he was a wonderful pistol shot, and 
recorded, in parenthesis, that on the occasion of 
his arrest in connection with the smashing of the 
Bank of Holland, no weapon was found upon 
him. It was also added that there was no con- 
viction against him in England, though he, too, 
had seen the inside of a French prison. 

Number Nine was pointed out to sightseers, 
with a certain amount of local pride by the guide, 
as the home of Millet the forger, who had re- 
ceived on one occasion a fifteen years’ sentence, 
but had been released after serving two years, an 


48 


KATE PLUS 10 


act of grace on the part of the authorities which 
earned for him a certain unpopularity with his 
peers and was held to be not unconnected with 
the subsequent arrest of a few of his former asso- 
ciates, the suggestion being that Mr. Millet had 
turned King’s evidence. 

At Number Two, on the “oval” side of the 
street, lived H. Mulberry, a respectable and 
methodical man, who went to his little office in 
Chancery Lane every morning of his life by the 
9.15 and returned to his home at exactly 5.30 
p.m. year in and year out. Mulberry was a beg- 
ging letter writer on a magnificent scale. He 
had a wonderful literary style which seldom failed 
to extract the necessary emolument which he 
sought. 

Number Four, a much larger house, indeed the 
second largest in Crime Street, was the habitat 
of “Senor Gregori, a teacher of languages.” Un- 
fortunately for him, he had in the course of his 
thrilling career taught other things than the liquid 
tongue of Spain. For example, he had taught the 
Bank of Chili that their “unforgeable” notes 


OTHER EYES WATCHED MICHAEL 49 


which, it was boasted, defied photographic repro- 
duction could be turned out by the tens of thou- 
sands and that the six tints in which a gold bond 
was printed offered no insuperable difficulty to 
a clever craftsman with an artist’s eye and a sense 
of colour. 

In Number Eight lived the two brothers 
Thomas and Francis Stockmar of Austrian extrac- 
tion, who were described as political refugees but 
were undoubtedly criminals of a peculiarly dan- 
gerous type. The Stockmars were dour, white- 
faced men with short bristling hair and were cer- 
tainly the least presentable of all the colonists. 

Number Six has been left to the last, for this 
was the most important house in Crime Street. 
It was a story higher than any other, built 
squarely, with no attempt at beauty. It is said 
that the third floor consisted of one room and that 
from its many windows it was possible to com- 
mand, not only all the approaches to the north- 
ern side of the gardens, but those to the south; 
it has even been suggested that it was so planned, 
that, in case of necessity, the house could be con- 


50 


KATE PLUS 10 


verted into a fortress, from the third floor of 
which a last desperate stand might be made. This 
then was Number Six, the abiding place of 
Colonel Westhanger and his brilliant niece. 

Michael Pretherston was no stranger to Crime 
Street. He had made many visits to this locality, 
and it had been at his initiative that the roadway 
of Amberscombe Gardens had been dug up one 
fine morning by a gang of road-breakers and there 
had been revealed that remarkable subterranean 
passage which connected the one side of the street 
with the other. The passageway led from the 
summer house in the gardens of the oval to a 
stable in Number Three. 

The Colonists, however, swore stoutly that they 
knew nothing whatever of the existence of this 
passage and that it must have existed years before 
they came to the street. The civil engineer, Col- 
ling Jacques, pointed out to the district surveyor 
that the very character of the passage suggested 
that this was some storm water drain which had 
been laid down and forgotten by the contractor. 
Or else it had been laid down in error and the con- 


OTHER EYES WATCHED MICHAEL 51 


tractor had been either too lazy or too rushed to 
break it up. There were many other explana- 
tions, none of which was wholly acceptable. 

Michael, swinging his stick, passed that portion 
of the road in which the passage had run and won- 
dered with a reminiscent smile where the new tun- 
nel was, for that there was a new one, he did not 
doubt. 

Night was falling, and Dr. Philip Garon’s din- 
ing-room windows blazed with light. Mr. Mul- 
berry’s, on the right, was more modestly illumin- 
ated. Mr. Cunningham’s house was in darkness, 
as also was “The Bishop’s.” There were lights in 
the bedroom at Number Seven but Number Six 
was black as also was Number Eight. 

He saw Millet standing at his garden gate, 
smoking, and crossed the road toward him, realiz- 
ing that the keen-eyed gentleman had already ob- 
served his presence. Millet, a florid man with a 
genial, almost fulsome, manner met him with a 
friendly nod. 

“Good evening, Mr. Pretherston,” he said. “I 
hope you are not looking for trouble.” 


KATE PLUS 10 


Michael leant on the top bar of the gate and 
shook his head. 

“I shouldn’t come here for trouble,” he said; 
“this is the most law-abiding spot in London.” 

Mr. Millet sighed and murmured something 
about misfortunes which overtake mankind and 
added a pious expression of his desire to forget the 
past and to end his days in that security and peace 
which sin denies its votaries. 

“Very pretty,” said Michael blandly, “and how 
are all our good neighbours? I was thinking of 
taking a house here myself. By-the-way,” he 
added innocently, “I suppose you don’t know any 
that are to be let?” 

Mr. Millet shook his head. 

“I am all alone here,” he said, “if you were 
really serious about wishing to live in this neigh- 
bourhood, I should be honoured to act as your 
host, Mr. Pretherston.” 

“And how is Kate?” demanded Michael, ignor- 
ing the invitation. 

“Kate?” asked the puzzled Mr. Millet; “oh, 
you mean, Miss Westhanger. I haven’t seen her 


OTHER EYES WATCHED MICHAEL 53 


for several days — I think it was last Tuesday af- 
ternoon I saw her last.” 

“Yes, at 2:30 in the afternoon,” mocked Mich- 
ael, “she was wearing a blue dress with white 
spots and a green hat with an ostrich feather. 
You remember her distinctly because she dropped 
her bag and you crossed to pick it up. You 
needn’t start the alibi factory working, Millet; I 
have nothing against Kate for the moment.” 

Mr. Millet laughed softly. 

“You will have your joke,” he said. 

“I will,” said Michael with grim emphasis, “but 
it is going to be a long time developing. I haven’t 
seen the Stockmars lately either.” 

“I never see them at all,” Mr. Millet hastened 
to state. “I have very little in common with for- 
eigners. Whatever there is against me, Mr. 
Pretherston, I am a patriot through and through. 
I am proud to be English and I don’t take kindly 
to foreign gentlemen and never will.” 

“Your patriotism does you credit, Millet,” said 
the detective dryly as he prepared to move on. “I 
wish you would be patriotic enough to give me a 


34 


KATE PLUS 10 


tip as to what game is on,” he lowered his voice. 
“You know all that is happening here and you 
might do yourself a little bit of good.” 

“If I knew anything,” said the other earnestly, 
“I would tell you in a moment, Mr. Pretherston, 
but here I am, out of the world, so to speak. No- 
body ever consults me and I am glad they don’t. 
I want to be left alone to forget the past — ” 

“Cut all that Little Eva stuff out, Uncle Tom,” 
said Michael coarsely. 

Other eyes had watched Michael, from behind 
blinds, through unsuspected peep-holes, a dozen 
pairs of eyes had followed him as he took his slow 
promenade along Crime Street. 

Colonel Westhanger, a tall, grey man, stood in 
that big room on the third floor of his house, his 
hands folded behind him, his chin upon his breast, 
following every movement of the detective. 
Gregori, handsome and lithe, stood at his elbow, 
shading the glow of his cigarette in the palm of 
his hand. 

“Colonel mio ,” he said softly, “I would give 
much for an opportunity of meeting that gentle- 


OTHER EYES WATCHED MICHAEL 55 

man in a nice dark passage, in one of those old 
Harrison Ainsworth houses which were providen- 
tially built over a river.” 

“You will have your wish one of these days,” 
said the Colonel gruffly; “I don’t like that fellow. 
He is not one of the ordinary run of policemen. 
They are bad enough, but this fellow knows too 
much.” 

He nibbled his white moustache, shook his head 
and turned away from the window as Michael 
took his farewell of the forger. 

“Watch him on the other side,” he said, “and 
send one of the boys out to follow him.” 

He descended the thickly carpeted stairs to 
the first floor, which was the living suite. The 
drawing-room in which he turned was a beauti- 
fully furnished apartment, and the girl who had 
been sitting at the piano, her nimble hands run- 
ning over the keys, looked up as he entered. 


CHAPTER IV 

“the ideal criminal is a strategist” 

“Where did he go 4 ?” she asked. 

“He went to Millet,” said the Colonel, throw- 
ing himself down to a divan and biting off the end 
of a fresh cigar. “I wonder what the dickens he 
wants 4 ?” he mused. 

Kate Westhanger made a little grimace. 

“You can never tell whether a policeman finds 
his duty a pleasure or his pleasure a duty,” she 
said. “I suppose he is just renewing acquaintance 
with Crime Street.” 

“Don’t use that phrase,” snapped her uncle. 

“I shall use whatever phrase I wish,” she said 
calmly. “You are getting nervous. Why 4 ?” 

“I’m not nervous,” he protested loudly; “I am 
getting old I suppose, and the job is such a big 
one. It is almost too big for me and if I occupied 

56 


“IDEAL CRIMINAL IS A STRATEGIST” 57 


the position I had a few years ago, Kate, I would 
drop it. After all, we have made a good deal of 
money and we might as well all of us live to en- 
joy it.” 

She was back at the piano again and was play- 
ing with the soft pedal down. 

“Can’t you find anything more cheerful than 
the 'Death of Asa’*?” growled her relative. 

“It is nerves, of course; I am awfully sorry.” 

She got up and closed the piano with a bang 
which made him jump. 

“I don’t know what to do about Mike,” she 
mused. 

“Gregori has a solution,” said the Colonel. 

“To cut his throat, I suppose,” said the girl 
coolly. “Gregori is so elemental and so horrific ! 
I can’t imagine that he ever has cut a throat in 
his life, but I suppose he feels that it is in keeping 
with his sunny southern nature to talk like that. 
No, Colonel mio” she mimicked, “we have 
stopped short of murder so far and I think we will 
remain on the safe side. My theory coincides 
with Mike’s. I was reading an article of his in 


58 


KATE PLUS 10 


a Socialistic paper the other day and it was all 
about the Right to Live. I don’t believe in kill- 
ing people. I believe in bleeding those who have 
grown apoplectic with their money and I don’t 
even know whether I believe in that.” 

“What do you mean?” the Colonel looked up 
at her under his shaggy brows. 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“I mean,” she said slowly, “I never know 
whether my vielvs are my own views or whether 
they are just your views which I reflect like a 
mirror. You see, dear,” she said, “I am very 
young but I have a logical mind and my logical 
mind tells me that no girl can have any very defi- 
nite views at nineteen, not of her own, I mean. 
Perhaps when I am twenty-five I shall look upon 
you as a terrible person, and all this,” she spread 
her hands out, “as something to think of with a 
shudder.” 

“In the meantime,” said her uncle practically, 
“you are Miss Ali Baba, chief strategist of our 
little army and a very exigent young lady — by- 
the-way, Gregori is kicking.” 


“IDEAL CRIMINAL IS A STRATEGIST” 59 


She looked at him with a contemptuous little 
twist of her lips. 

‘There is a great centre forward lost in Greg- 
ori,” she said. “What has moved that dago’s 
feet?” 

“Hush, hush, my child,” cautioned her uncle, 
“our admirable friend is upstairs and, anyway, it 
doesn’t do to speak disrespectfully of one’s crim- 
inal associates. There is a certain punctilio in 
our profession which you may have noticed.” 

“How queer it sounds!” she said, leaning for- 
ward and clasping her knee. “Do you know, 
uncle, I cannot think straight. Ever since I was 
so high,” she stretched her hand out before her, “I 
have never known a desire to secure anything I 
wanted, save by taking it from somebody else. 
At the school in Lausanne I seemed to be amongst 
the queerest people and, honestly, although you 
had warned me, I thought they were all mad. All 
their fathers made money in business, which 
seems to be a slow method of stealing which is 
allowed by the law. Think of the horrible mon- 
otony of working steadily day after day without 


60 


KATE PLUS 10 


any holidays, with no excitement, no adventures, 
save the artificial thrill of a theatre and the ad- 
ventures that meet you on your way home.” 

“I didn’t even know there were those kind of 
adventures,” said the Colonel, fingering his trim 
moustache and enjoying with closed eyes the fra- 
grance of his cigar. 

“Oh, yes,” nodded the girl, “you meet all sorts 
of men who raise their hats and say, ‘Good-even- 
ing, Miss,’ or ‘Haven’t we met before^’ I don’t 
think they have ever said anything else,” she re- 
flected thoughtful^, — “they all belong to the 
‘Good-evening’ or the ‘Met you before’ school, 
and they all want to know if you are ‘going their 
way.’ ” 

“What happens then*?” asked the amused Col- 
onel, carefully removing his cigar in order that 
he might laugh without detriment to the accu- 
mulating ash. 

“I have only had one experience,” said Kate. 
“It was with a young man with a horribly weak 
chin. He had studied in both schools, for his 
‘Good-evening’ was followed by a request for in- 


“IDEAL CRIMINAL IS A STRATEGIST” 61 


formation upon my immediate plans and I let 
him walk with me. I expected something very 
dreadful but he talked mostly about his mother 
and the difficulties he had about getting a latch- 
key. He wanted to take my arm but I told him it 
w r asn’t done and then he suggested that I should 
meet him on Sunday. By this time I had learnt 
all about his family, his mother and the girl he 
was prepared to sacrifice to retain a continuation 
of our intimacy. I also discovered his name was 
Ernest and that he was the cleverest man in his 
office.” 

“He wanted to kiss you, I’ll be bound,” said 
the Colonel. 

“I think he did,” admitted the girl, “but he 
didn’t say so. All he said was that he hoped it 
didn’t rain and asked if he might write to me. I 
told him he might, but, unfortunately, he forgot 
to ask me my address — ” she broke off suddenly, 
“what is Gregori kicking about?” 

“That Madrid affair didn’t go off as well as it 
might,” said the Colonel, avoiding her eye. 

She nodded. 


62 


KATE PLUS 10 


“I know; and Gregori blames me, I presume.” 

“Gregori never blames you,” said the Colonel, 
“I think Gregori would knife anybody who said a 
word against you.” 

“No,” she said, nodding her head, her eyes fixed 
on the opposite wall, “the Madrid affair went 
badly, in spite of the fact that there were forty- 
two sheets of manuscript in Spanish and English 
giving the most elaborate directions. It was a 
month’s work for me and it was all wasted and the 
greater part of a hundred thousand pesetas be- 
cause Gregori’s trusted Senor Rahboulla thought 
he could improve upon my instructions and joined 
the train at Cordova in a light grey suit when I 
told him to wear the conventional black of the 
madrilleno and when I insisted upon his making 
his entrance to Madrid from Toledo. I knew that 
Cordova was watched by the French and Spanish 
police and I knew too that they would be looking 
for a stranger. Rahboulla advertised himself, 
was arrested and the chain, which I had carefully 
pieced together, was broken. By the time he had 
shaken off the police and arrived in Madrid the 


“IDEAL CRIMINAL IS A STRATEGIST” 63 

closing hour of the Prado had been advanced from 
six to five and the consequence is, that the Velas- 
quez is still in the picture gallery and we are a 
hundred thousand pesetas the poorer.” 

The Colonel shook his head. 

“You are a wonderful girl and I will admit 
you are right. Heavens ! the patience required to 
work out these details !” 

“The ideal criminal is a strategist,” said the 
girl. “He foresees every move of the enemy and 
forestalls him. He makes a diversion at one point 
and his real attack at another. He prepares the 
way for retreat at the same time as he is prepar- 
ing his advance. It took me six months to obtain 
all the information I wanted and it took six min- 
utes for Rahboulla to upset our plans.” 

She laughed. 

“If things go wrong, you blame the general,” 
she said. “Three years ago, Gregori the Kicker 
introduced an Italian into one of our schemes — 
the business of the Nottingham Post Office. That 
went wrong, too.” 

“There I admit you were right,” the Colonel 


64 


KATE PLUS 10 


hurried to say; “Tolmini made a mess of it.” 1 

“And tried to drag us all into it when he was 
caught,” said the girl; “he went to prison under 
the impression that I had led him into a trap — 
though the fool was told the mail bags were not to 
be touched until the night shift came on duty.” 

“Why do you mention him now with such em- 
phasis?” asked the Colonel curiously. 

“Because he’s out of prison — and he’ll be kick- 
ing, too,” she replied, “just as Gregori kicks!” 

“ £ Let the dead past bury the dead,’ ” quoted 
the Colonel. “And how is the new scheme?” 

“Much farther advanced than you think. 
There are still one or two roads to be made smooth, 
one or two outposts to be rushed, some barbed 
wire to be cut.” 

“By Gad !” cried the Colonel admiringly. 
“You ought to have been a soldier, Kate.” 

She leant back in the chair with her hands 
clasped behind her head and looked at him search- 
ingly. 

1 See Rex <v. Tolmini (Notts. Assizes). This was evidently 
the big mail robbery which failed, owing to the precipitancy 
of one of the criminals. — Editor. 


“IDEAL CRIMINAL IS A STRATEGIST” 65 


“You were once a gentleman, uncle,” she said 
in that direct way of hers and Colonel Westhanger 
flushed and frowned. 

“Well, my dear uncle,” she expostulated, “you 
are not a gentleman by the ordinary code now 
are you?” 

“I have certain instincts,” protested the Colonel 
gruffly; “hang it all, Kate, you don’t let a fellow 
down very lightly.” 

“I suppose you are still something of a gentle- 
man,” said the girl reflectively; “the mere fact 
that you are annoyed at the suggestion that you 
are not proves that. But what I mean to say 
is this ; there was a time when you obeyed another 
code, when you thought stealing was a disgraceful 
thing and robbery under arms a crime. You must 
have associated with men on whose word you could 
rely and who would never commit a dishonest or 
a mean action — men who were prepared in battle 
to give their lives for you. And you must have 
commanded men who had the same views and 
have punished soldiers who stepped aside from the 
straight path and committed little crimes which, 


66 


KATE PLUS 10 


compared with yours, were as pin-heads to the 
dome of St. Paul’s.” 

“I can’t see why you want to talk about the 
past,” said the Colonel irritably. He was still 
a fine figure of a man, grey-moustached, broad of 
shoulder, tall and straight of back and had about 
him that indefinable something which men who 
have commanded men never entirely lose. 

“I am merely comparing you with me,” she 
said; “you have the advantage of having seen both 
sides. Tell me, which is the better*?” 

“Which do you think*?” he demanded sus- 
piciously. 

She tossed her cigarette into the grate. 

“I think this is the better,” she said frankly; 
“it is very pleasant and very exciting. And all 
the good people I have met have been very dull. 
I think that is because all good people are 
dull.” 

“There are some good people,” said the Colonel 
virtuously, “who are very interesting.” 

“Not because of their goodness,” rejoined the 
girl quickly; “if you meet a very popular good 


IDEAL CRIMINAL IS A STRATEGIST” 67 


man it is because there is something about him 
which is not absolutely good. If you hear a man 
speak of a parson as a good fellow you will gen- 
erally discover that he goes to the National Sport- 
ing Club and sees boxing or rides to hounds or 
does something which is quite unassociated with 
his professional duties or the exercise of his inno- 
cent qualities. But you have not answered me. 
Which is better?” 

“If I had my life to live over again — ” began 
the Colonel with a wry face. 

“That’s silly,” said the girl calmly. “You 
won’t have your life to live over again, so why 
speculate upon the possibility? Anyway, if you 
could live your life over again, you could not pos- 
sibly benefit by your present experience, because 
you would not remember it. You have lived two 
lives, which is the better?” 

“You are in a queer mood, to-night,” said Col- 
onel Westhanger, rising and stalking past her to 
the fire-place. “Have you got religion, or some- 
thing?” 

“Which is the better?” she asked again. “To 


68 KATE PLUS 10 

be a free thief or to be in the dull bondage of hon- 
esty ?” 

“For your peace of mind the honest life is the 
better,” said the Colonel. “You have no sleep- 
less nights, no agony of mind which you have to 
conceal with whatever skill you possess at every 
knock at the door, no fear of the police, no won- 
dering what the next day is going to bring forth.” 

“Really!” she looked up at him quizzically. 
“Do honest men never have any of those exper- 
iences? Do honest men get into debt, for exam- 
ple, and dread the coming of the collector? 
Does an honest man who is getting grey feel a 
little sickening sensation in his heart every time 
his employer looks at him thoughtfully?” 

The Colonel turned round and snarled over his 
shoulder. 

“As you seem to have all your answers ready- 
made, I don’t know why you trouble to ask me,” 
he snapped; “there are advantages and disadvan- 
tages on both sides of the picture.” 

The girl was in a restless mood and presently 
she sprang up, walked to the window, opened the 


“IDEAL CRIMINAL IS A STRATEGIST” CD 


little square of shutter and looked out into the 
darkening street. Then she crossed to her little 
desk at one side of the fireplace. She sat down 
and wrote for a while, then, as suddenly, she 
dropped her pen and got up again. 

“You are going to ask another question,” 
warned the Colonel. 

“Only one,” she pleaded. 

“Well, fire away,” he grumbled ungraciously. 

“What would induce you to forsake your ca- 
reer and apply your undoubted talents, as the 
assize judge said to poor dear Mr. Mulberry, to 
better purpose 4 ?” 

“Wealth,” said the Colonel promptly, — “enough 
stuff put aside to bring me in a nice little income. 
And here again, let me say, Kate, that you and I 
could well afford to knock off — ” 

She interrupted him. 

“That is a purely material inducement,” she 
said. “What other — spiritual or ethical 4 ?” 

“Oh, rot!” he snapped. “Why dc you ask 
these fool questions^” 

“Because I am wondering,” she said, “what 


70 


KATE PLUS 10 


influence could be brought to bear upon me. The 
opinion of my fellow creatures? No, I don’t 
care what they think. I know they are mostly 
fools and so why should they influence me? 
Wealth? No, if I were rich as Croesus I should 
go on, for the sport of it. Punishment? No, I 
should use my spare time in correcting the faults 
in me which had resulted in my detection. I am 
afraid I am incorrigible, uncle, for there is some- 
thing about this life which appeals to me no end 
— and now I am going to dress,” she said, making 
for the door. 

“Going out?” asked the Colonel in surprise. 

She nodded. 

“But Gregori — ” 

“Gregori can wait,” said Kate, “and Gregori 
bores me. He is always trying to make love.” 

“Is that remarkable?” suggested the Colonel 
archly. 

“It is remarkably annoying,” said the girl. She 
flung open the door and stepped back. Gregori, 
politest of cavaliers, stood deferentially in the en- 
trance and she surveyed him coolly. 


“IDEAL CRIMINAL IS A STRATEGIST” 71 


“Were you listening?” she asked. 

“Senorita !” he said, shocked. 

She laughed and passed out. Gregori watched 
her as she mounted the stairs till she turned out 
of sight, then he closed the door and came across 
to the Colonel. 

“Our little friend is hard on me,” he said with 
no hint of malice in his voice. 

“She is a queer girl, Gregori,” replied the Col- 
onel, shaking his head. 

“She is a queer girl,” repeated Gregori; “queer 
indeed, yes.” 

He stroked his little black moustache. 

“She doesn’t like me.” 

“Who does she like?” snapped the older man. 

“You, I trust,” smiled the Spaniard. 

The Colonel tossed his head despairingly. 

“I hardly know,” he said. “What a reversal of 
positions !” 

The Spaniard took the seat the girl had va- 
cated. 

“I know what you are thinking about,” he 
nodded; “a few years ago she was the obedient 


72 


KATE PLUS 10 


child absorbing our code — to-day she is the tyran- 
nical mistress of the situation.” 

He deftly unrolled and rolled a Spanish cig- 
arette, licked its edges and fumbled for a match 
in his waistcoat pocket. 

“She is all brain, our Kate,” he said admir- 
ingly, “but her heart — pouf!” he puffed out a 
cloud of smoke to emphasize the word. 

“There is no end to her energy,” he went on; 
“sometimes I think she is dangerous and then 
when I come to consider all things it is impossible 
to say that she can be. After all, hers is only the 
plan. The responsibility for the bungling is with 
us — the plan is so perfect that you can hardly pick 
a hole in it. She works out to the last minute 
detail the chronology of a coup, she dresses it, 
rehearses it. She never fails. Yes, it was Rah- 
boulla,” he agreed, “and I was wrong to kick. 
What was it she called me, a ‘centre forward’ and 
a ‘dago’,” he laughed softly. 

“She is very young,” said the Colonel apolo- 
getically, “and a little impetuous of speech — she 
talks too much, I think.” 


“IDEAL CRIMINAL IS A STRATEGIST” 73 

“A pretty woman can never talk too much,” 
said the gallant Gregori; “she can think too much 
and talk too little. A person who talks is like a 
lighted house with all the blinds up and the doors 
open, you know where you are. Now, Colonel 
mio , how far have we got with this new scheme?” 

The Colonel brought a chair in one hand and 
a light table in the other to where the Spaniard 
sat, produced from his inside-pocket a bunch of 
memoranda and in a few minutes the men were 
deep in the discussion of the most remarkable, the 
most startling and the most daring enterprise that 
Crime Street had ever undertaken. 


CHAPTER V 

A CHORUS GIRL AT SEBO’S 

Sebo’s Club was crowded, for it was the dinner 
hour and Sebo’s is the most extensively patron- 
ized of the dining clubs. Here, all that was 
beautiful, all that was smart, all that was famous 
and brilliant in the world of society, letters and 
the drama met on common ground — the inherent 
and universal desire which humanity has for care- 
less comfort. A Cabinet Minister and his party 
sat at the next table to that presided over by a 
great revue actress; the owner of a Derby winner 
sat back to back against a famous Radical satir- 
ist. The editor of a great London daily could 
look across his table and without shifting his eyes 
could count in his field of vision the pretty dan- 
cer from the Empiredrome, a royal physician, a 
peer of the realm and a ragtime singer. 

74 


A CHORUS GIRL AT SEBO’S 


75 


The big dining hall blazed with lights, the little 
tables were crowded together so as to leave scarcely 
room for the waiters who, by some mysterious 
dispensation of Providence, seemed able to thread 
their ways through impossible spaces. The noisy 
coon band kept up its rhythmic pandemonium in 
one corner of the room, but did not drown the rip- 
pling laughter and the buzz of light-hearted talk. 

In the little vestibule a young man, very tall 
and very thin, paced the tesselated floor with that 
evidence of resignation which tells so eloquently 
the story of the Unpunctual Guest. He was very 
fair and very pink. His countenance was vacant 
and the vacancy was by no means relieved when 
he screwed a gold-rimmed monocle into his right 
eye. 

Presently the glass doors swung and a girl came 
hurriedly toward him, holding out her gloved 
hand. 

“I am awfully sorry I am late, Reggie,” she 
said with easy familiarity. 

“If you were an hour late or five hours late or 
a day late,” said the young man with gentle ec- 


76 


KATE PLUS 10 


stasy, “I should be content to wait, Miss Flem- 
ming.” 

She flashed a dazzling smile at him. 

“I shouldn’t be horribly shocked if you called 
me Vera,” she said. 

The young man went pinker than ever, coughed, 
stuttered, ran his gloved finger inside the high up- 
standing collar about his thin throat, dropped his 
eye-glass, retrieved it and did all this in the space 
of four seconds, thereby betraying his perturba- 
tion and his gratitude. 

“You have a table, I suppose?” said the girl 
when she had returned from depositing her 
coat. 

“Rather!” said the young man, and added after 
a second’s thought, “Rather!” 

He fussily shepherded her through the mass of 
tables where his own attenuation enabled him to 
emulate the deeds of the agile serving man and 
brought her to a corner table which was smoth- 
ered with rare flowers. Heads were turned, sharp 
eyes focussed the couple, some smiled, though for 
the girl the glances held nothing but admiration 


A CHORUS GIRL AT SEBO’S 


77 


or cold-blooded appraisement, according to the 
sex of the observer. 

“Reggie Boltover!” said one young man. 

“Who is Reggie Boltover?” asked his com- 
panion. 

“A human being loosely attached to a million,” 
was the laconic description. 

The girl was radiant, the smile hardly left her 
face and the eyes which glanced shyly up to her 
tall companion were full of wonder and delight. 

“So this is Sebo’s,” she said. “Isn’t it a dread- 
fully wicked place?” 

Reggie Boltover’s face creased alarmingly — he, 
too, was smiling. 

“My dear Miss — my dear Vera,” he said boldly, 
“should I bring you to a wicked place, now I ask 
you; should I bring you to a wicked place, 
should I?” 

His conversational powers were not brilliant 
but his heart was pure. He was not really a 
wicked young man about town and his’ chief wick- 
edness lay in his implicit belief that he was. He 
had met the girl one night by accident. A more 


78 


KATE PLUS IQ 


daring friend of his, and nearer approaching Reg- 
gie’s own ideal of doggishness, had induced him 
(he protesting feebly) to call at a stage-door 
where he was meeting a charming friend to take 
her to supper. The charming friend in the gen- 
erous large-hearted way of chorus girls had intro- 
duced her friend, Vera Flemming, a new-comer to 
the ranks of the chorus, and they had all supped 
together and Vera had been very charming to Mr. 
Reggie Boltover and he had asked her to go with 
him up the river and had serious thoughts, be- 
cause of her evident refinement, of introducing her 
to his mother, which shows that Reggie had 
reached the most dangerous stage of infatuation. 
There was really nothing wrong about Reggie 
Boltover and nothing remarkably terrible about 
this strangely initiated friendship. 

Chorus girls are merely shop-girls with a taste 
for caviare and peaches. They are no more sinful 
than their sisters in the same social strata and 
the only difference between them is that, whilst 
they are exposed to similar temptations, the cho- 
rus girl has a larger field to pick from and the 


A CHORUS GIRL AT SEBO’S 


79 


candidates are much more presentable. A shop- 
girl accepts the hospitality of a tea-shop, the 
chorus-girl goes to the Ritz. Both have one con- 
suming passion, a desire for good food, for which 
they do not have to pay. 

Reggie Boltover, who, to do him justice, knew 
everybody, entertained the girl for half-an-hour 
by pointing out the various celebrities in the room 
and Vera Flemming was interested without being 
enthusiastically so. 

“I would rather you talked about yourself,” she 
said, “you are ever so much more interesting than 
these people.” 

“Oh, no,” said Reggie, with a little giggle; “oh, 
no!” 

“You are, indeed, you are,” she said earnestly. 

“Oh, come,” said Reggie; “oh, come! no! I am 
not interesting; oh, dear no!” 

His life he admitted frankly was very ordinary. 
All that he did was to sign a few cheques, liquid- 
ate a few debts, see a few “fellows” about 
“things” and “there you are,” said Reggie. 

“It must be wonderful to be in a position of 


80 


KATE PLUS 10 


power,” said the girl musingly. “Of course, I 
come from a very poor family. We only think in 
shillings where you think in thousands of pounds. 
And it is awfully hard to realize what it feels like 
to order people to do things instead of being or- 
dered.” 

Reggie Boltover, who had never ordered any- 
body to do anything in his life and would not 
have dared to dispute the judgment of the innu- 
merable managers and directors whom his sainted 
father had appointed in his life-time, wondered 
himself what it felt like. He had often medi- 
tated, with a shudder, upon the necessity which 
might one day arise, for his taking the initiative in 
the conduct of his business. He dimly realized 
that, in time, all his managers and directors would 
die and he had dimly speculated upon the ques- 
tion as to who would replace them. He had a 
feeling that perhaps one might go to Whiteleys 
and order some new ones, but it had never oc- 
curred to him that at his autocratic word managers 
and people of that description could be made out 
of mud, or that an order affecting the business 


A CHORUS GIRL AT SEBO’S 


81 


which he was supposed to control would be acted 
upon if he were to give that order. 

“Well, you know,” he said, “I never really 
tell people to do anything. You see, I never see 
them except very occasionally. Of course, they 
make reports and all that sort of thing and I have 
a man who reads them so everything is all right 
and I just sign cheques and see a few fellows and 
there you are.” 

Under the genial influence of her sympathetic 
interest he expanded a little and proved that he 
was not as wholly incompetent as he pretended 
to be. For instance, he knew that the iron works 
and ship-building yard which still bore his father's 
name, and incidentally his own, made “a deuced 
lot of money” every year and that certain other 
properties made no money. 

There was one property of which he spoke with 
great bitterness but only because, his father, in 
his life-time, had also spoken of that matter with 
similar violence and asperity. Apparently, the 
one redeeming feature about Boltover’s Cement 
Works lay in the fact that it had no manager and 


82 


KATE PLUS 10 


therefore produced no reports. It was in fact a 
deserted shell of a building so infamously unprof- 
itable that Boltover senior (now in Heaven) had 
directed almost with his last breath, if you be- 
lieved Reggie, that his name should be erased 
from the official designation of the company. 

“You see it was bad cement; you know how 
cement is made, don’t you?” 

“I should love to,” said the girl, her eyes shin- 
ing, “I have often wondered.” 

“Well,” said Reggie looking round the table for 
something to illustrate the object lesson, “you dig 
in the river and you take out a lot of stuff and 
you chuck it in a cart and then you chuck it into 
a fire and you pull it out and do something to 
it and there you are! That’s cement. Only 
our cement wasn’t cement, if you understand. 
That is what made the beastly thing so awk- 
ward.” 

“How wonderful !” said the girl. “I shall al- 
ways remember that.” 

“Of course, we’ve got our eyes open,” said 
Reggie now fairly launched upon the story of his 


A CHORUS GIRL AT SEBO’S 83 

life, “and one of these days we shall catch a 
mug.” 

“Catch a — ?” asked the girl, puzzled. 

Reggie went very pink, but he was excited and 
grateful at this demonstration of the girl’s refine- 
ment. 

“Forgive the vulgarity, Miss — Vera; I mean 
we shall find a purchaser. I once nearly sold the 
beastly thing for £10,000 and the day the deed 
was to be signed, they took the poor chap away 
to a lunatic asylum, poor old bird, not right in his 
head, you know. That is why he wanted to buy 
our cement works. Comic, isn’t it? 

“D’you know,” said Mr. Boltover, suddenly, 
“when I came round to the stage door that night 
I never expected to meet you?” 

She looked at him in innocent surprise. 

“Didn’t you really?” she said incredulously as 
though the idea had occurred to her for the first 
time, and then, thoughtfully, “I suppose you 
didn’t.” 

“I didn’t expect to meet you,” repeated Mr. 
Boltover, who, when he had got hold of one com- 


84 


KATE PLUS 10 


plete sentence, held tight to it until his groping 
mentality had reached out and securely grasped 
another. “No, I didn’t expect to meet you, but 
I’m awfully glad. I feel I owe that young lady 
more than I can ever repay.” 

He said this with an unusual display of senti- 
mentality. 

“That young lady” was his companion’s chorus 
girl friend, who at that moment was retailing to 
her youthful companion at the far side of the room 
such details of Vera’s life as she had been able to 
secure in a seven-day acquaintance. 

“Vera’s not in our show now, of course,” she 
said; “I don’t think she had ever been on the stage 
before. She’s an awfully fresh kid. Came late 
to rehearsals and all that sort of thing, but I 
like her immensely.” 

She smiled and bowed to Vera who, at that mo- 
ment, had caught her eye. 

“She’s very pretty,” said her companion. 

“Yes; isn’t she?” agreed the girl, her interest 
in her friend suddenly evaporating. 

But there was one in that crowded dining-room 


A CHORUS GIRL AT SEBO’S 


85 


whose every disengaged moment was employed in 
watching the girl and her companion. It in- 
volved his getting into the way of other waiters 
and called down upon his head execrations in 
Neapolitan, Sicilian and the choicest slang of the 
Montmartre. He was a man who had prayed for 
two years for such a moment as this, and his soul 
rejoiced in savage exaltation that so Heaven-sent 
an opportunity had come. 

As the night wore on his plan took a definite 
shape. For the consequence he cared nothing. 
Here was his opportunity, here was his enemy. 
He seized a moment, slipped through the service 
door and passed down a flight of stone steps to the 
crowded kitchen filled at that moment with a bab- 
ble of sound as the orders were repeated across 
the streaming brass pots and the blistering hot 
plates. He passed through the kitchen to the 
larder department, and found what he sought in 
the big cool vault where the butchers worked. It 
was a long thin knife. He waited until the 
butcher’s back was turned and slipped it up his 
sleeve, passed rapidly through the kitchen, ignor- 


86 


KATE PLUS 10 


ing the chef’s demand as to his business, and 
reached the warm, bright restaurant again. 

He had no time to waste. 

The butcher might at any moment detect the 
theft and the thief hauled into the service room 
to explain his conduct. He made his way across 
the room to where Mr. Reginald Boltover and his 
fair companion sat. 

Reggie thought the man had a message, but 
Vera, looking up, saw the man’s evil face — and 
knew. She half twisted, half flung herself 
against Reginald Boltover as the waiter’s hand 
came up to strike. She saw the knife glitter for a 
space of a second and closed her eyes, then there 
was the sound of a struggle and she opened them 
in time to see the vengeful man flung backward to 
the floor and an immaculate Michael Pretherston 
standing over him examining the knife with some 
interest. 

She met the inspector’s eye and smiled, though 
the smile was forced, for even as he bowed, she 
heard the mockery of his surprise. 

“Why, Kate!” he murmured. “I’m always 
meeting you.” 


CHAPTER VI 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 

“At 9:40 on the night of the 15th instant I was 
present at Sebo’s Club. The room was full of 
diners and amongst them was Mr. Reginald Bolt- 
over and a girl giving the name of Miss Vera 
Flemming, who was in reality Kate Westhanger. 
At 9:52 an Italian named Emil Tolmini, em- 
ployed as a waiter at Sebo’s Club, attempted to 
stab Kate Westhanger but was prevented and 
taken into custody. In the course of the struggle 
in which he was disarmed he sustained a slight 
scalp wound and permission was given for him 
to be taken to the kitchen to have the wound 
dressed. I regret to state that he succeeded in 
making his escape. He is a convict on license 
(record No. P.C.A./C.C.C. 85943). He is an 
old associate of the Crime Street gang and was ob- 
viously attempting to avenge himself upon the 
87 


88 


KATE PLUS 10 


girl for some injury, real or imaginary, which he 
had suffered. 

“I made no attempt to warn Mr. Boltover as 
to the character of his companion, but subse- 
quently calling at his flat in Piccadilly on the pre- 
tence that I wished to get information about the 
attempted murder, I discovered that he had been 
introduced to the girl at a theatre where she was 
posing as a chorus girl. She had evidently laid a 
deep plan to meet him, for what reason it is not 
clear. He is a very wealthy man and it may be 
necessary at a later stage to warn him* but at 
present I have taken upon myself the responsi- 
bility of refraining from that act.” 

Michael Pretherston ended off the report with 
his neat signature, folded it and inserted it into an 
official envelope which he addressed to his chief. 
By good fortune he met that brilliant man coming 
into Scotland House as Michael was going out. 

“I think you did right,” said T. B., after he 
had heard the story; “I wonder what her game is 4 ? 
I have a good mind to detail a man to take the 
whole case up.” 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


89 


“Let me do it,” said Michael, eagerly. 

T. B. Smith pursed his lips. 

“You are rather a big man for a job like that, 
Michael,” he said, “it may turn out to be nothing 
more than a common or garden chorus girl’s ro- 
mance.” 

“Kate isn’t the chorus girl type,” said Michael, 
“if it is big enough for her to be in it, it is quite 
big enough for me.” 

The chief thought for a moment. 

“Very well then,” he said at length, “you can 
take on the job. Do it by yourself if you possi- 
bly can, I haven’t any men to spare. But keep 
in touch with me. Blowing a whistle won’t be of 
any service to you if these people mean business 
and get after you.” 

He hesitated again. 

“Confound Kate!” he said. “I suppose you 
have circulated a description of the ice-cream mer- 
chant?” 

All Latin criminals came under this generic de- 
scription with T. B. 

Michael nodded. 


90 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Well, good luck,” said the chief, “but be care- 
ful!” 

When the young man had gone T. B. beckoned 
to an officer who was passing. 

“You’re the very man, Barr,” he said; “pick up 
Mr. Pretherston and don’t lose him — you may 
choose your own opposite number.” 

The sergeant saluted and hurried out after his 
charge. 

Michael went back to his rooms with a light 
heart. It was the kind of job that he liked better 
than any other. He had not told the chief all 
his suspicions. Kate’s game was a big one. 
High-flyer as she was, she was out for a height 
record — that he realised. There was some asso- 
ciation between her month with Lord Flanbor- 
ough and the careful cultivation of Reggie Bolt- 
over’s acquaintance. When he came to think of 
it she must have met Boltover while she was still 
with Flanborough. He had taken it for granted 
that the girl was a resident secretary but possibly 
he had arrived at this conclusion in error. So it 
proved next morning when he called Lord Flan- 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


91 


borough’s house on the telephone and had a pri- 
vate conversation with the butler. The young 
lady, during the time she had been at Fel- 
ton House, had left every afternoon at four 
o’clock. 

A little talk with the stage manager at the the- 
atre showed that the girl had never attended any 
of the morning rehearsals and had missed one of 
the matinees. Michael saw this part of the 
scheme plainly enough. Kate, through her spies, 
had discovered that Boltover had an acquaintance 
who had a friend at the theatre. She had come 
to the stage with no other object than making a 
friend of the girl who all unwittingly was the 
instrument by which she was to meet Reggie. 

The detective knew that this was no chance 
acquaintance. He followed the manoeuvres of 
Kate through all their devious paths. He took 
the opportunity in the afternoon to call upon Reg- 
gie at his office which was something between a 
board room and a boudoir. 

Reggie’s theoretical interests were multifarious. 
He was the nominal head of a dozen different 


92 


KATE PLUS 10 


corporations which his industrious father had cre- 
ated for his profit. In practice he knew very little 
about any of them and nothing about some. 

“I hope your lady was not alarmed,” said 
Michael, with spurious anxiety. 

“Oh, no, the lady was not alarmed; oh, no,” 
said Reggie, shaking his head violently. “Oh, 
dear no. She was not alarmed. Of course, it 
would have been different if she had been alone, 
but being with me, naturally she — er she — er was 
not alone.” 

“Naturally,” agreed Michael. 

“No, she was not alarmed,” said Mr. Boltover, 
“in fact, she was very cool, remarkably cool. I 
have never seen anybody so cool.” 

“I hope when you see her again,” said Michael, 
“you will tell her I asked.” 

“Certainly,” said Mr. Boltover heartily; “cer- 
tainly I shall tell her you asked.” And he added 
after a moment, “When I meet her again.” 

“She seemed, if you will forgive the imperti- 
nence, so interested in everything,” encouraged 
Michael. 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


93 


“You are quite right,” said Reggie eagerly, 
“you are perfectly right. That just describes her. 
She is interested in everything.” 

“It is nice to meet people who are interested 
in one’s business,” Michael went on artlessly. “I 
never mind people being interested in my business, 
do you 4 ?” 

“Oh, dear no,” replied Mr. Boltover in alarm, 
as though the very thought that anybody should 
be discouraged from an interest in his affairs, 
caused him acute mental unhappiness; “oh, dear 
no. Certainly not. Not at all.” 

“Of course,” smiled Michael, “she could not 
very well understand all the complexities of your 
business, Mr. Boltover — it is such an enormous 
one.” 

“Well,” hesitated the other, “I don’t know. I 
am not so sure. She is a very intelligent young 
lady. I was talking to her about my business 
when this dreadful affair happened and she was 
so calm that she just went on talking about it, 
don’t you know. My business, I mean. I 
thought it was a most remarkable instance of 


94 


KATE PLUS 10 


coolness. I was telling one of our directors to- 
day about it, and he thought it was a remarkable 
instance of coolness. Yes, even when I was tak- 
ing her home she told me a lot about herself and — 
things. Her grandfather is a very wealthy man, 
a financier. I didn’t know that.” 

Michael might have said that he too was un- 
aware of the fact, but he knew just the moment 
when a tactless interpolation might dry ud the 
fount of Mr. Boltover’s eloquence. 

“Very intelligent lady indeed,” wandered Mr. 
Boltover, “oh, yes, I was talking about her grand- 
father — he is a very rich man. She thought that 
he might be able to take one of our properties off 
our hands. I was awfully surprised. Naturally, 
I did not think she had any money being in the 
chorus and all that — I hope I haven’t been indis- 
creet^” he asked anxiously. “You possibly did 
not know that she was on the stage.” 

“Oh, yes, I did,” said Michael with a smile; 
“you have betrayed nothing, Mr. Boltover.” 

“I am awfully glad,” replied the other, relieved; 
“what was I saying, about her grandfather, yes. I 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


95 


think I might sell him that property. I hate part- 
ing with properties — we have refused quite a num- 
ber of good offers — sheer sentiment, don’t you 
know 4 ?” 

“But perhaps this is not a paying property.” 

“Oh, no, not at all,” said Mr. Boltover; “by no 
manner of means whatever. Still we don’t like 
parting with them. Of course, I talk a lot of rot 
about people wanting to buy the works and I 
always tell that great joke about a lunatic — ha, 
ha — but really it isn’t true. No, not really true, 
oh, no.” 

Michael had never heard the great joke about 
the lunatic. What he was anxious to hear were 
details of Kate’s projected purchase but in this 
he was foiled. There was precious little of the 
business man about Mr. Reggie Boltover but one 
lesson he had learnt, and learnt thoroughly, and 
that was the art of silence. His revered father 
was wont to say, “If you never open your mouth, 
Reggie, nobody will know what an ass you are,” 
and in business, at any rate, Reggie most relig- 
iously lived up to this injunction. 


96 


KATE PLUS 10 


What was the girl’s object*? 

Michael was puzzled. Strangely enough the 
obvious never occurred to him, or if it did he dis- 
missed it without a second consideration. He did 
not look upon Kate as the type that would find 
any amusement, whatever the profit might be, in 
the inveigling of a young fool to the altar. Kate 
wanted the excitement, not the money. That 
was her history. He had first met her when he 
was in the Special Department and it had been 
over a little matter of a King’s messenger’s des- 
patch bag which on a cross-channel journey had 
mysteriously disappeared, though it was prac- 
tically handcuffed to the owner’s wrist, that he 
had first become acquainted with the girl. He 
was interested in her, but only mildly so, because, 
at the time, he arrived at a somewhat hasty judg- 
ment. It was later, when the strong-room of 
the “Muranic” was forced and twenty-five pack- 
ets of diamonds vanished in mid-ocean and when 
he had been in charge of the investigations which 
had resulted in the imprisonment of Colonel West- 
hanger, that he had first formed a true estimate of 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


97 


the girl’s character — an estimate which he had had 
cause to modify, but never to change. 

Michael lived in a big block of flats near Baker 
Street, where he maintained a somewhat elabor- 
ate establishment for an inspector of police. He 
had, however, a private income of his own which 
he had inherited from his maternal grandmother 
and as he was a man of simple tastes and very few 
extravagant needs, he was able to live very com- 
fortably indeed. He reached his home a little 
before 8 o’clock and was astonished as he came 
through the lobby of the flat to meet Beston, his 
man-servant, clad in fine raiment and going forth. 

“Hello, Beston, where are you off to?” he asked 
in surprise. 

The man touched his hat cheerfully. 

“I am going to the theatre, sir, and thank you 
very much for the tickets,” he said. “Cook went 
ten minutes ago and I stayed behind to tidy 
things up.” 

“Oh, cook went ten minutes ago, did she?” 
said Michael. “That’s good. When did the 
tickets arrive?” 


98 


KATE PLUS 10 


“About an hour ago, sir, by a district messen- 
ger. It was very kind of you to wire to us that 
you were sending them.” 

Michael laughed softly. 

“Your surprise at my consideration hurts me, 
Beston,” he said. “I always do things like that. 
By the way, did they spell your name correctly in 
the telegram*?” 

“I think so, sir,” said the man in surprise, fum- 
bled in his pocket and produced the orange slip. 

“I am sending you two tickets for the thea- 
tre tonight. May not be home until to- 
morrow. Pretherston.” 

Thus read the wire, which had been handed in at 
the Strand Office. 

Beston sensed some difficulty. 

“I hope it’s all right, sir,” he asked anxiously. 

“Quite all right,” replied Michael with a cheer- 
ful nod. “Don’t wait for me now, I shall not be 
in very long.” 

He mounted the carpeted stairs, opened the 
door of his flat and closed it carefully behind him. 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


99 


He went straight to his study, pulled down the 
blinds and drew the thick curtains across the win- 
dows, then he turned on the light, took up the 
telephone and gave a Treasury number. 

“Is that Sergeant Pears ?” he asked. “Is there 
a telegram waiting at the Yard for me?’ 

“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant’s voice. 

Michael winked at the wall. 

“Do you mind opening and reading it?” 

There was a little pause and then the sergeant 
repeated into the receiver : 

“To Inspector Michael Pretherston, Scot- 
land House. Come up by the earliest train. 

Am staying at Adelphi. T. B.” 

“Handed in at Manchester, I suppose?” 

“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant, “at three-fifteen.” 

“Is the chief in Manchester?” 

“Yes, sir; he went by the morning train.” 

“Excellent,” said Michael, “thank you very 
much, sergeant.” 

He hung up the receiver. 

This was Kate’s work — the beautiful detail of 


100 


KATE PLUS 10 


it, the knowledge she possessed of T. B. Smith’s 
movement. She had probably sent a man up on 
the same train with the chief and had given him 
the telegram in advance, with exact instructions 
as to the minute it was to be handed in. Yes, it 
was Kate. Yet (he became uncomfortable at the 
thought) it was not like her to leave things to 
chance. How came she to miss him at the Y ard ? 
He returned to the telephone and again called up 
his assistant. 

“What time did the telegram arrive?” he 
asked. 

The sergeant’s voice was apologetic. 

“I am very sorry, sir, I am afraid it arrived 
while you were here, this afternoon. It was given 
to a messenger to take in to you and in some ex- 
traordinary way the constable forgot it. I have 
reprimanded him.” 

“That’s all right,” said Michael, relieved. 

His relief, curiously founded, he might have 
found it difficult to explain. It was the relief 
which the matador feels when he sees the bull, 
which steps so proudly into the ring, will put up 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


101 


a good fight. It was the relief of the huntsman 
when a strong fox breaks from covert. He 
wanted Kate and that extraordinary organization, 
which he had set himself to conquer, to be at its 
best that his victory might be the more satisfac- 
tory. 

He looked at his watch. It was five minutes 
past eight. He knew that his visitor would give 
the servants an hour and he must employ that hour 
profitably. He began to write rapidly on a pad 
of scribbling paper, tearing off the sheets as fast 
as he had filled them. He had been working for 
an hour when he heard a bell tinkle. Some one 
was at the front door. He switched out the light, 
walked into the passage (he had already removed 
his shoes) and listened. Whoever was coming 
had sent an agent in advance to discover whether 
the flat was empty. Again the bell rang. Mich- 
ael made no sign. It rang a third and last time. 
The detective made his way stealthily to the win- 
dow and slipped behind the curtains. He had 
left his study door open, so that he could hear 
every sound. He had ten minutes to wait before 


102 


KATE PLUS 10 


the faint click of the lock told him that the door 
had been opened. He knew that the visitor would 
come to the study last, and he proved to be right. 
Three minutes passed — as near as he could judge 
— before he caught the flash of a lamp which was 
directed cautiously to the curtained window. The 
light passed slowly along the floor until it reached 
the skirting, travelled round until it found the 
lower edge of the drawn curtain. Through the 
slit he had cut in the heavy velvet hangings 
Michael witnessed the search. Presently the light 
went out after focussing itself upon the electric 
switch. There was a click and the room was 
illuminated. 

The girl who stood by the desk was soberly 
dressed and was apparently in no hurry. She 
pulled her gloves off slowly, whilst she allowed 
her eyes to rove over the littered table. Half a 
dozen sheets of writing attracted her attention 
and when her gloves were removed she picked the 
papers up, pulled the big writing chair to the 
table and sat down to read. She read the notes 
through carefully and once she smiled. When 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


103 


she had finished she put them down, leaned back in 
the chair and looked around the room, then, 

“Come out, Mike,” she said. 

Michael stepped forth without embarrassment. 

“I was nearly deceived,” she said, “with your 
precious account of the happening at Sebo’s and 
then I realized that this could not have been writ- 
ten more than five minutes before. You forgot to 
blot the last sheet and the ink is still damp.” 

She rubbed her fingers over to prove the fact. 

“Why aren’t you in Manchester^” she asked. 

The staggering question nearly took his breath 
away. 

“Well, if you aren’t the real Kate !” he said ad- 
miringly. 

“I’m in your chair I’m afraid,” she said. 

“Not a bit.” 

He dropped into a deep settee. 

“Now tell me all the news. But before we go 
any farther,” he said with mock concern, 
“wouldn’t you like a chaperone 4 ?” 

“Don’t worry,” she replied, “I have a chap- 
erone.” 


104 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Not in my flat I hope,” he said in a tone of 
alarm. “You, I can trust, Kate, but the idea of 
your low thieving friends being up against all my 
movable goods gives me a little pain.” 

She fished in her bag and produced a little gold 
case. She opened it and took out a cigarette. 

“You won’t have one, of course*?” 

“Not one of yours, Kate,” he said reproach- 
fully. “No, I’ll have one of my own if you don’t 
mind.” 

“I think you are very rude,” she said with a 
lift of her brows. 

“It’s better to be rudely awake than politely 
asleep,” he said meaningly. “When one has to 
deal with clever criminals one has to take all sorts 
of precautions.” 

She laughed and looked at him curiously. 

“I wonder what made you a policeman?” 

“Nature,” he said promptly. 

She was puzzled. 

“I don’t quite get your humor,” she said. 

“Nature provides all things with some form of 
protection. It gives the oyster its shell and the 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


105 


tiger its stripes. It gives the squid his ink-sack 
and the shark his teeth. Nature always produces 
antidotes. When criminals are stupid they have 
stupid policemen to deal with them. When crim- 
inals are extraordinarily clever, Nature provides 
the police force with an officer of unusual intel- 
ligence. I came to the police in blind obedience 
to the laws of Nature.” 

She laughed softly in his face. 

“It’s so nice to be able to discuss things with a 
man of sensibility,” she said. “Of course, some 
of my friends are awfully clever and uncle is very 
philosophical, but then they all take a very one- 
sided view of things, and I think it’s so much 
better to hear the other side of every question. 
You can get two views on all subjects except 
crime,” she went on. “If you believe in Dar- 
win’s theory you can meet hosts of clever people 
who bitterly oppose it. If you are a Christian 
Scientist you can meet hosts of Theosophists. 
Even if you are a firm believer in monogamy you 
can generally hire a Mormon to argue on the other 
side. It is only when we come down to crime 


106 


KATE PLUS 10 


that you meet the truly insular view, held by peo- 
ple who know nothing whatever about its finesse, 
or the genius necessary to break the laws without 
leaving a big hole to show where you went in and 
another to show where you came out. That is 
why I like you, Mike,” she said frankly. 

“Any appreciation is very gratifying to me,” 
said Michael, “but that which is so enthusiastic 
that it leads my admirer to break into my flat to 
ravish my secret thoughts, is a little overwhelm- 
ing.” 

“I wanted to know what you were saying about 
me,” she said, “though I ought to have known that 
you would not leave things about for me to read — 
still,” she justified herself, “to do myself justice, 
I did not expect to find your confidential reports 
on your desk.” 

There was a big safe in one corner of the room. 

“I was going to open that.” 

She nodded toward the strong-box. 

“You saw me the other night,” she turned the 
conversation suddenly. 

“At Sebo’s — yes,” he said, “I saw you.” 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


107 


“What did you think ?” she asked quietly. 

“I thought you were with the loquacious Mr. 
Boltover for a special reason of your own,” he 
said slowly. 

“He is an orator, — isn’t he?” she agreed, — “but 
he’s quite a nice boy, really. God didn’t give 
him brains and it’s not fair to make fun of a 
man’s deficiencies.” 

“What did you want of Reggie?” asked 
Michael. 

“I just wanted to know all about him,” she 
said, “that kind of people are always interesting 
to me.” 

“What did you want of Reggie?” he asked 
again. 

“How insistent you are !” she laughed. 

She got up and began strolling about the room, 
taking down books from the big bookshelf and 
examining their titles. 

“What catholic tastes you have, Mike — and 
Tennyson, too. How depraved!” 

“You will find a Browning somewhere,” he 
said carelessly. 


108 


KATE PLUS 10 


“That’s more encouraging,” she smiled. “It’s 
an awfully comfortable room. Quite like the 
room I thought you would have.” 

She looked at a book plate on the cover of one 
volume. 

“You were at Winchester, I see. So was 
uncle.” 

“The poison and the antidote !” 

“You are not fair with uncle. He’s a mental 
degenerate, too. Crime is a disease with him.” 

“And with you*?” said Michael quickly. 

“It’s a hobby. It’s a tremendous excitement.” 

She put the book down and turned to him. 

“You don’t know what it’s like. To work 
things out and make them happen, to cover a 
couple of sheets of paper with writing and then 
see all sorts of things move in obedience to those 
instructions, to see thousands and tens of thou- 
sands of pounds change hands, to know that men 
are going long journeys, that special trains are 
being run, that telegraph wires are humming all 
over the Continent, that a dozen brilliant thief- 
catchers are working and worrying in a vain at- 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


109 


tempt to undo all that twenty or thirty lines of 
writing have done. 5 ’ 

“This will be used in evidence against you,” 
warned Michael flippantly. 

The girl was not posing. Of that he was con- 
vinced. Her big grey eyes were brighter, her 
whole face was alight with the excitement of the 
thought, her voice had a new thrill. She was 
exalted, transfigured at the thought of the power 
which her shrewd brain gave to her. 

“What did you want of Reggie?” he asked 
again. 

The light faded out of her eyes and she was 
her normal self again. 

“Oh, I wanted to pick his pocket,” she said 
mockingly; “or, no, I know something better — I 
wanted to marry him. He’s worth two millions.” 

“I don’t think you will ever marry for money,” 
said Michael. 

“What makes you say that?” she asked quickly. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“That is the estimate I have formed of you. I 
may be wrong.” 


110 


KATE PLUS 10 


“I shall never marry," she said with decision. 
“Pm not of the marrying kind. I hate men in 
some ways. I hate them so much, that it gives 
me a real joy to take away the one thing in the 
world that they really love. You know the 
Claude Duval tradition — I mean the idealized 
Claude Duval of tradition, not the sneak-thief 
valet of actuality — of robbing the rich and never 
robbing the poor — well, I rob men, and I never 
rob women.” 

“In fact you rob the people who have the 
money," said Michael. “That isn't clever." 

“No, but it sounds awfully good. I’m think- 
ing of including it in the great speech I shall de- 
liver one of these days at the Old Bailey." 

“What did you want from Reggie^" he asked. 

“You are almost monotonous," she laughed. 
“Well, I wanted information." 

She turned and again he saw that bright light 
in her eye and that eager look in her face. 

“I will tell you, Michael Pretherston," she 
said, pointing a white finger toward him. “We 
will play fair. I am going to do a big thing. I 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


111 


am going to make the most wonderful steal that 
the world has ever known. That is why I found 
Reggie. That is why I made a martyr of myself 
and endured the boredom of Lord Flanborough’s 
society.” 

She clapped her hands like a child. 

“It’s a big thing, Michael, but it’s full of com- 
plications, wonderfully full of strategy, and I am 
going to do it all with your assistance.” 

He jumped up and flung out his hand. 

“Put it there, Kate,” he said. 

“This is going to be the big thing for both of 
us and I am going to be the victor. If you win 
you have whatever you’re after. If I win, you 
have me,” she said with a little laugh. 

He looked at her in silence. 

“I can almost see you gripping my arm and 
pushing me into the steel pen,” she said. “I can 
see you sitting in court in a brown — no, a blue — 
overcoat, with your hat nicely balanced on your 
knees, looking up at me in the dock and wonder- 
ing how I am going to take it.” 

A cloud passed over his face. 


KATE PLUS 10 


112 

“You’re a pessimistic little devil,” he growled. 
“No, I wasn’t thinking about that.” 

“What were you thinking about ?” she asked, 
her eyes wide open in surprise. 

“I was thinking I’d marry you,” he said. 

She looked at him in amusement. 

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” he said; “didn’t you know?” 

“Marry you!” she said scornfully. “Great 
Heavens !” 

“You might do worse,” he said with his cheer- 
ful smile. 

“Can you name anything I could do that would 
be more hopelessly degrading than marry a police- 
man?” 

“Yes,” he said, “you might be an old maid 
and keep cats. You take it for granted, of 
course,” he went on, “that I am letting you go 
now.” 

“Naturally,” she replied, “I have given you 
something to live for.” 

“You may be right,” he said quietly and opened 
the door for her. 


KATE CAME TO THE FLAT 


113 


They walked down the felt covered passage 
to the front door. 

“I owe you something,” she said as they stood 
in the doorway. “The young man from the South 
nearly put an end to my promising career.” 

“A little thing like that is hardly worth men- 
tioning. Good night, Kate, are you sure it is 
safe for you to be out alone so late 4 ?” 

She made a little face at him and went tripping 
down the stairs. She turned into the street, but 
had not gone two paces when a hand caught her 
arm. 

“Excuse me,” said a voice. 

By the light of a street lamp she recognized her 
captor as a detective sergeant from Scotland Yard. 

Before she could protest a voice spoke from 
the darkness of the balcony above and it was the 
voice of Michael. 

“All right, sergeant,” he said. 

She shook herself free of the man and looked 
wrathfully up at the dim figure. 

“I forgot you’d have your nurse handy, 
Michael,” she jeered. 


114 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Good night, dear,” said the voice from the 
balcony and to her intense annoyance she felt an 
extraordinary sensation wholly new to her, but 
which with her quick woman’s wit she correctly 
diagnosed, as she hurried angrily along the street. 

For Kate Westhanger had blushed for the first 
time in her life. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE PRINCESS BACHEFFSKI BEAUTIFULLY 

DRESSED 

Lord Flan borough gave a dinner party. He 
was a methodical man and invariably made his 
arrangements a long time in advance, and he was 
not unnaturally annoyed, when, at the eleventh 
hour, his daughter suggested a change in the plans. 

“My dear Moya,” he said testily, “don’t be 
absurd. Surely after what has passed — after his 
extraordinary attitude — ” 

“Oh, daddy, what nonsense!” said the girl. 
“Michael is really a good sort and he will be 
amusing. I really cannot sit out a dinner with 
all those boring people, and if you don’t invite 
him, I shall have a headache.” 

“But, my dear,” protested her father, “Sir 
Ralph will be quite entertainment enough, 
surely*?” 


115 


116 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Sir Ralph is the biggest bore of all,” she said 
calmly. “Please let me have my way.” 

So to his surprise and amusement Michael re- 
ceived an invitation to dinner, couched in such 
gracious terms that he formed the wholly incor- 
rect impression that some other guest had failed 
Moya and that he was being called in to relieve 
her of the responsibility for thirteen people sitting 
at table. 

It was even a more dreary dinner-party than 
Moya had imagined. 

Sir Ralph Sapson was amusing in his own way, 
but his own way was not Moya’s way. He was a 
stout, handsome, young man on the right side of 
thirty, immensely wealthy and, according to her 
father, immensely capable. Though there had 
been no definite arrangement it was understood, 
mainly by Lord Flanborough, that Sir Ralph de- 
sired a closer association with the Flanborough 
family than his directorships gave him. 

The remainder of the guests were even less en- 
tertaining than Sir Ralph. There were three 
other members of the peerage. Old Lord Kat- 


THE PRINCESS BACHEFFSKI 117 


stock who was a political lord who had once oc- 
cupied a position as under-secretary in some for- 
gotten administration, the Marquis of Cheddar 
who was a sporting lord and had theories on the 
Bruce Low system of breeding, Lord Dumburton 
who was a soldier lord, very poor and very wicked, 
unless rumour lied, and an assortment of directors 
which included Mr. Reginald Boltover who recog- 
nized Michael with a guilty start and took no 
interest whatever in his dinner but waited with 
bated breath for Michael to reveal his guilty 
secret. There were two or three ladies who gave 
Michael the impression that they had been dipped 
in diamonds by their herculean maids, there was 
a thin, dowdily dressed lady with a hooked nose. 

(“Has the Duchess borrowed anything, 
Moya*?” said Michael under his breath. 

“Not from me,” said the girl significantly, “but 
father is rather susceptible. She’s an awfully 
good sort really, but I do wish she wouldn’t take 
snuff.”) 

Michael knew, or was known to, them all. 

“It’s a rum idea of yours, going into the police, 


118 


KATE PLUS 10 


Pretherston,” said Sir Ralph with that air of 
patronage which he reserved for people poorer 
than himself. 

“It’s just as rum an idea as your going into trade 
and keeping shops,” said Michael. 

Sir Ralph smiled indulgently. 

“We have to do something to make an honest 
living,” he said. “I suppose the reference to the 
shops is my association with the Colonial Retail 
Stores. That makes a hundred thousand a year, 
Pretherston.” 

“Then you have a hundred thousand reasons 
for selling bad jam,” said Michael; “I’ve given 
up buying things at your shops.” 

“That is a tragedy,” said Sir Ralph with heavy 
humor. “Try us again and we will endeavour to 
merit your patronage.” 

“I have another bone to pick with you,” said 
Michael. 

He did not like Sir Ralph Sapson. 

“I came up the other day from Seahampton, 
the railway carriage was beastly, hadn’t been 
cleaned for a month, and the train was fifty min- 


THE PRINCESS BACHEFFSKI 119 


utes late. The London and Seahampton is an- 
other of your profitable ventures isn’t it?” 

“I am told that I have an interest in it,” said 
Sir Ralph, with a smile at the girl, “but, really, 
my dear Pretherston, when you find a railway so 
badly conducted you ought to complain to the 
police.” 

This amused him so much that he laughed with- 
out restraint and was, as a result, compelled to 
explain his joke to fourteen people who were 
anxious to share it. 

Michael had to leave early. 

“I should dearly love to stay and play bridge 
with you,” he said. 

“Michael, you are a little horrid, aren’t you?” 
asked the girl. 

“Horrid?” he asked, puzzled. 

“You are so practical, you weren’t always like 
that.” 

/ “And you weren’t always unpractical,” he 
laughed. 

She had hoped — she did not know exactly what 
she had hoped, but the new Michael was so unlike 


120 


KATE PLUS 10 


the old that she could almost have cried with 
vexation. Gone was the old recklessness, the old 
extravagance (save in directions annoying to her 
guests) and the old adoration which shone in his 
eyes. There was an unpleasant feeling that he 
was laughing at her all the time and that did not 
add to her happiness. 

“I don’t think you’re nice, anyway,” she said; 
“won’t you come more often to see us 4 ?” 

4 £ When you lose a pearl necklace, or find the 
hired lady surreptitiously carrying off your pro- 
visions, drop a line to Inspector Michael Prether- 
ston, Room 26, Scotland House and I will be with 
you in a jiffy.” 

“By which I understand you don’t want to see 
us at all,” she said petulantly; “I am sorry I 
asked you to-night.” 

“I, for my part, am very glad,” he said. 

Later, when Michael had left, Sir Ralph was 
to find her a very unamusing companion, though 
why she should be annoyed with her sometime 
suitor only a woman can understand. She did 
not love him. In some ways she rather disliked 


THE PRINCESS BACHEFFSKI 121 


him, and possibly the underlying reason for her 
inviting him at all, was in order to confirm and 
seal her indifference. If Michael had been in 
the least way attentive, had shown the slightest 
desire to recover the lost ground and to resume 
the old romance, she would have found an intense 
satisfaction in checking him and would have gone 
to bed that night happy in the knowledge that 
she had permanently attached to her one for whom 
she had not the slightest tenderness. 

This is the way of women who, when offered a 
dish, a dress, a colour, a material or a man, in- 
variably say, “I would like to see something else.” 

Her abstraction was so marked that Sir Ralph 
thought she was ill, which instantly produced that 
headache which it is every woman’s privilege to 
adopt at a moment’s notice. 

“You ought to take care of Moya, Flan- 
borough,” he said to his host at parting, “she’s 
not at all well.” 

“I have noticed it,” said the dutiful parent who 
had noticed nothing of the kind and had inwardly 
remarked that Moya was sulking about something. 


KATE PLUS 10 


m 

“You have an extraordinary eye for things of that 
kind, Sir Ralph.” 

“I understand human beings,” admitted Sir 
Ralph, “it has been my one engrossing study in 
life. It is almost a vice with me. When a man 
comes into my office I can generally sum up his 
character, his business and his capabilities before 
he has opened his mouth.” 

“It’s a great gift,” said Lord Flanborough 
solemnly. 

Sir Ralph Sapson was in a particularly cheer- 
ful mood that night. In the brief interview 
which he had had with his future father-in-law 
he had not only secured a tacit agreement of his 
right to be admitted to the family and an ex- 
pression of Lord Flanborough’s approval, but he 
had clinched a very excellent business arrange- 
ment which had been hanging fire for twelve 
months — an arrangement which may be briefly 
summarized : 

Lord Flanborough was the chairman of the 
Austral -African Steamship Company which car- 
ried merchandise and passengers between Cape 


THE PRINCESS BACHEFFSKI 123 


Town and Plymouth. Sir Ralph was the chair- 
man of the London and Seahampton Railway and 
was also chairman and a large shareholder in the 
Seahampton Dock Improvement Company. The 
docks had improved much more rapidly than had 
the trade which could justify their existence and 
the deal which was really a side-line to the more 
romantic business of a matrimonial alliance, was 
that the ships of the A-A line should shamelessly 
abandon Plymouth and Liverpool and should 
have their headquarters at Seahampton, an ar- 
rangement which offered advantages on both 
sides, since Lord Flanborough was not without 
interest in the Seahampton docks. 

The night was chilly, a full moon rode serenely 
in the skies; there was a touch of frost in the air 
and more than a suspicion of frost on the side- 
walk. Sir Ralph Sapson’s car was waiting, but 
he ordered the chauffeur to drive home, saying 
that he would prefer to walk. Sir Ralph lived 
in Park Lane so that he had nearly a mile to cover, 
but he was in that mood which made light of so 
unusual an exercise. He reached the door of his 


KATE PLUS 10 


124 

imposing residence and his hand was on the bell 
when he heard his name called. He had noticed 
as he walked up to his door that a little distance 
along the road was a big motor car, its head lamps 
gleaming and a chauffeur busy tinkering with the 
engine. 

“I am afraid you don’t know me,” said a sweet 
voice. 

Sir Ralph raised his hat. 

The girl who stood on the sidewalk was obvi- 
ously a lady. She was as obviously beautifully 
dressed, and Sir Ralph who had an appraising 
eye valued the ermine cloak she wore at some- 
thing not far short of a thousand pounds. A 
single broad collar of diamonds about her slender 
throat was all the jewellery she wore. 

“I am afraid I don’t,” he said. 

“I only met you once,” said the girl timidly, 
“in Paris. You were introduced to me in the 
foyer of — ■” 

“Oh, yes, at the Opera, of course,” said Sir 
Ralph who, amongst other things, was a patron 
of the Arts. 


THE PRINCESS BACHEFFSKI 125 


She nodded and seemed pleased that he had 
remembered her, a compliment which Sir Ralph 
did not fail to observe. 

“My car has broken down,” she said, “and I 
was wondering if I could beg your hospitality. 
It is so horribly shivery here.” 

She drew her cloak tighter around her. 

“With all the pleasure in life,” said Sir Ralph 
heartily, “but I have only a bachelor’s establish- 
ment, you know,” he laughed. 

He rang the bell and the door was opened in- 
stantly. 

“Put some lights in the drawing room,” he said 
to the servant. “Is there a fire there?” 

“Yes, Sir Ralph,” said the man. 

“Can I get you some coffee or a little wine?” 

She had pulled a big chair up before the blaze 
and was resting her little white slippers upon the 
silver fender. Her shapely hands were outspread 
to the fire and Sir Ralph noted that on her fingers 
there was no sign of the plain gold circle of bond- 
age. 

“You will think it awfully rude in me, but I 


126 


KATE PLUS 10 


cannot recall your name,” he said, when the ser- 
vant had gone. 

“I don’t suppose you do, my name is rather a 
barbarous one,” she laughed. “I am the Princess 
Bacheffski.” 

“Why, of course!” said Sir Ralph heartily, “I 
remember distinctly now.” 

To do him justice, Russian princesses are not 
unusual phenomena in Paris and he had a very 
bad memory for foreign names. 

“I suppose I am being very unconventional,” 
she said with a little grimace, and for the first 
time he noticed that she spoke with the slightest 
accent, “but needs must when the devil drives, 
and I had either to sit in that cold car or grasp 
the good fortune which fate threw in my way. 
And you, Sir Ralph, are looking just the same as 
when I saw you last. You are one of the big 
business men in London, aren’t you?” 

“I have a few interests,” admitted Sir Ralph 
modestly. 

They talked of Paris which Sir Ralph knew, 
and of Russia through which he had travelled on 


THE PRINCESS BACHEFFSKI 127 


one occasion, and of London, and then the coffee 
came and a few minutes later, her chauffeur, to 
tell her that the repairs had been effected. 

“Before I go I want to ask you one favour, Sir 
Ralph,” she said. 

She was a little embarrassed and nervously 
twisted a ring on her finger. Sir Ralph saw this 
and wondered. 

“You have only to ask anything, Princess, and 
it is granted,” he said gallantly. 

She hesitated a moment and bit her lip in 
thought. 

“I am going to take you into my confidence, 
and I know as a man of honour” (Sir Ralph 
bowed) “you will not betray me. I am in Lon- 
don, but I am not supposed to be in London.” 

She looked at him anxiously as she made this 
confession. 

“I understand,” said Sir Ralph, which was not 
true. 

“You have probably noticed — you were so 
quick at seeing those things — that I am not wear- 
ing my wedding ring. Well,” she hesitated, 


128 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Dimitri and I have quarrelled, and I do not want 
him to find me. I haven’t been to the Embassy 
or to call on any of my old friends.” 

“You may be sure,” said Sir Ralph, “that your 
secret is safe. I may say,” he added, “that this 
is not the first time I have been entrusted with a 
confidence as delicate.” 

“I know I can trust you,” she said, warmly 
gripping his hand. “I am staying in a little 
furnished flat which I have taken in Half Moon 
Street. I have a duenna with me for the sake 
of the proprieties — Dimitri is so funny about those 
things — so if a busy man can spare the time, I 
am always in between four and five — ” 

“It will give me the greatest happiness to re- 
new the acquaintance,” said Sir Ralph and raised 
her hand to his lips. 

Sir Ralph retired to rest that night more pleased 
with himself than ever. 


CHAPTER VIII 


AN ARTIST MAKES AN EXHIBITION 
OF HIMSELF 

No man has ever understood a woman, for the 
simple reason that woman is unintelligible even 
to her own kind. If she were not, and if she were 
susceptible to explanation by her own sisters, be 
sure that her own sisters would lose no time in 
telling the first man she met all about her. 

Lady Moya Felton possessed that rare combina- 
tion of talents, beauty and acumen. She dressed 
well, she spoke well, and she looked well. She 
was a product of Newnham, an institution which, 
more often than not, gives the world a being which 
is something less than a woman and something 
more than a babu. This being is crammed with 
erudition and for many years fights life with a 
textbook. Sometimes she continues to the end, 

very self-assured, very confident of the facts 

129 


130 


KATE PLUS 10 


she has culled from the printed page and very 
determined that she will never surrender her 
mechanical facts or her machine-made values. 
Sometimes, she succumbs to the humanising in- 
fluences which daily contact with the verities of 
life bring to her and develops into a useful and 
charming member of society. 

Moya had absorbed just as much of life as 
she thought was necessary to her comfort. She 
stopped short of the supreme lesson which finds ex- 
pression in cheerful sacrifice but she was an 
eminently pleasing person and never discussed 
biological justice or gave forth as her own the 
shoddy philosophies she had acquired in hall. 
Therefore, she was bearable. Moreover, by 
realising — here her instinct served her — that 
Newnham had turned her out fit for nothing better 
than a church-going school ma’am, she conveyed 
an impression of her education rather than de- 
claimed the fact. 

Practical as she was, she had a guilty secret, not 
only a very dear one, to be hugged tight to her 
heart, but one which evoked the unusual emotion 


AN ARTIST MAKES AN EXHIBITION 131 


of profound disapproval in the more ordered com- 
partments of her mind. Moya was a dreamer, 
a cold-blooded romanticist who had wonderful 
adventures with wonderful people whenever she 
walked or rode abroad. In the privacy of her 
big limousine, she would be absorbed in events 
of her own creation, wholly monopolised by men 
and women who bore no likeness to and had no 
relation with any person in her somewhat ex- 
tensive list of acquaintances. She would often 
find herself in situations so absurdly impossible 
that even the penny novelette reader would have 
rejected them with the scorn which their crudity 
deserved. She did not dream of living people, 
the mere mental suggestion — for the roving mind 
has a trick of taking charge at times — that any 
of her visionary heroes had his prototype in flesh 
and blood ensured the ejection of the offending 
dream-man and the substitution of another, more 
wildly improbable but at the same time more un- 
likely to challenge relationship with anybody in 
the material world. 

She could dream and yet accept the cold practi- 


132 


KATE PLUS 10 


cality of a Ralph Sapson and calmly consider a 
marriage so hopelessly prosaic. 

That was inexplicable. 

For an engaged lover Ralph had been singu- 
larly remiss. He had called once since his un- 
emotional declaration of love. To do him justice 
he had skipped the tender demonstrations which 
usually accompany even the most formal engage- 
ments and had got down to the question of settle- 
ment in the shortest space of time. This was as 
Moya could wish, for she also was embarrassed 
at the thought that a human being might possibly 
approach — suffering in comparison — the extrava- 
gance, wordless and intangible as it was, of her 
shadowy friends. 

It is a remarkable circumstance that romance 
in concrete form did not come to Moya, until the 
very week she engaged herself to marry Sir Ralph 
Sapson. It came in a curious way. She had 
driven to Leicester Square to see an exhibition of 
pictures. It was one of those collections which 
dawn upon London, bringing in its wake a name 
which has never been heard before, save in a very 


AN ARTIST MAKES AN EXHIBITION 133 

select circle and is never heard again outside of 
that circle; an orbit which swings beyond the ken 
of ordinary mortals. 

She went into the gallery and found it a veri- 
table desert. Save for a young man and a small, 
pinched and preoccupied girl, wearing a large 
pendant in which was inserted the photograph of 
her uninteresting fiance, the place was empty. 
The girl with the pendant carried her excuse in 
her hand, in the shape of a bunch of catalogues. 
There was less excuse for the young man for he 
was healthy in appearance and it was not rain- 
ing. 

Moya began a conscientious inspection of the 
pictures, chiefly remarkable for their colouring 
and for the atmosphere which the artist had man- 
aged to secure. Indeed, the pictures were all 
atmosphere. The girl made a slow progress 
along the wall, comparing each framed atrocity 
with her catalogue and striving to sense, dimly, 
something of the artist’s honourable intentions. 

She looked around once to discover what effect 
the pictures had upon her fellow sightseer. He 


134 


KATE PLUS 10 


was standing before a long panel representing, if 
the catalogue had been rightly compiled, “A Blue 
Wind on a Green Hill.” His face bore an ex- 
pression of the deepest gloom, his hat was tilted 
to the back of his head and his hands were thrust 
deeply into his trousers pockets. The longer he 
looked at the “Blue Wind on the Green Hill” 
the more morose and unhappy did he appear. 

This then was the attitude which the new 
colourist school demanded, one of fierce but ap- 
proving antagonism if the paradox be permitted. 

She moved up till she was almost by his side, 
never thinking that in the presence of the girl with 
the programmes and the photographic miniature, 
he would dare address her. Yet he did. 

“What do you think of that one*?” he asked 
without turning his head. 

She was taken aback and was prepared to be 
chilly and non-committal. She looked at his face 
and the nearer view was a pleasing one. He was 
very fair, very good-looking and had the bluest 
eyes she had ever seen in a man. He was also 
unshaven and his collar was not clean, but he was 


AN ARTIST MAKES AN EXHIBITION 135 


well dressed enough and his tone was wholly 
Oxford — and Balliol at that. 

“I think it is rather weird,” she said. 

“So do I,” he nodded vigorously. “I think it 
is — 'weird 5 is the word. As a work of art how 
does it strike you? 55 

She hesitated. She had a full range of studio 
jargon which she had acquired in the course of 
her after-education and could speak glibly on 
atmosphere, tone and light. She knew that it was 
possible to refer to a still-life study of a bunch 
of bananas as being “full of movement 55 without 
being guilty of an absurdity. In fact, she knew 
enough about art to have occupied a position on 
any average newspaper as a critic. 

“As a work of art, 55 she said, “it is original and 
a little eccentric. 55 

“Frankly*?” he demanded fiercely. 

All the time he spoke he was glaring at the 
picture and had not turned his head toward her. . 

“Frankly, 55 she replied, “I think these are mon- 
strosities. 55 

He nodded again. 


136 


KATE PLUS 10 


“I agree with you,” he said, “and I know better 
than anybody else how monstrous they are — I 
painted ’em !” 

Moya gasped. 

“I am awfully sorry,” she began. 

“I am sorry, too — that I painted them,” he re- 
plied. “I am not sorry that I exhibited them, 
because all my friends told me that they were 
wonderful and naturally I get some satisfaction 
from proving that my friends are mentally de- 
ficient.” 

He turned round and looked at her and was in 
turn surprised. 

“Hello,” he said, staring at her with his blue 
eyes wide open, “I thought you were much older.” 

She laughed. 

“The fact is I didn’t look at you,” he confessed; 
“how can anybody look at anything with these 
beastly things staring one in the face — Hi ! 
Emma !” 

Fortunately the programme girl was looking 
his way and realised that he was speaking to her. 

“Your name is Emma, I suppose.” 


AN ARTIST MAKES AN EXHIBITION 137 


“No, sir,” said the girl impressively, “my name 
is Evangeline.” 

He turned to the girl. 

“Here is an Evangeline whom I thought was 
an Emma ; and here are my Emmas that I thought 
were Evangelines,” he said despairingly. “What 
made you come to this exhibition^” 

“I saw a criticism of the pictures in yesterday’s 
papers.” 

“In the Megaphone ,” he said accusingly. 

“Yes — it was a very flattering criticism, I 
thought,” said the girl. 

He nodded. 

“I wrote it myself,” he said without shame. 

He turned to the programme girl. 

“Tell your master to shut up the gallery, have 
the pictures packed away and sent home.” 

“But,” said Moya in alarm, “I hope my stupid 
views won’t influence you.” 

“It isn’t your stupid view,” he said, “it is my 
original stupid view. You see, I can’t paint 
really. I know not the slightest thing about art, 
I have never had an artistic education or served 


138 


KATE PLUS 10 


under any master. I am a genius. These works 
are works of a genius. The frames cost a lot 
of money and the amount of paint I have used 
is prodigious. There is everything there,” he 
waved his hand to the covered walls, “except the 
know-how.” 

She murmured a conventional expression of 
sympathy, but he did not invite sympathy, he in- 
vited condemnation and seemed to find a comfort 
in his own misfortune and was obviously all the 
happier, that he had reached a decision on his own 
merits. 

They walked out of the gallery together and 
Moya wondered at herself. That she had in so 
brief a space of time entered into the aspirations 
and disappointments of a perfect stranger so that 
she felt something of his chagrin was truly amaz- 
ing. 

“I know you,” he said, breaking off in the 
midst of a sardonic dissertation on art, “you are 
Lady Moya Melton or Pelton.” 

“Felton,” she suggested, amused. 

“Oh, yes, Felton,” he nodded. “I saw your 


AN ARTIST MAKES AN EXHIBITION 139 


portrait in the academy, a very bad portrait too.” 

“People thought it was rather good,” she de- 
murred. 

“Idealised, but Lord, what do I know about 
art? This char-a-banc de luxe is yours, I pre- 
sume,” he pointed to the big limousine. 

“It does happen to be mine,” she said; “my 
father gave it to me on my twenty-first birthday.” 

He inspected it critically. 

“I wonder if I know as much about motor- 
cars as I know about painting,” he said. “I used 
to think I knew something about .both, but here, 
at any rate, is something real, it is a very nice 
car.” 

He opened the door for her and she offered her 
hand. 

“I am so sorry about the pictures,” she said. 

“Don’t worry,” he replied cheerfully. 

She thought for a moment. 

“Can I drop you anywhere?” 

He fingered his unshaven chin. 

“If you know of a nice deep pond where a man 
may drown himself without interference I should 


140 


KATE PLUS 10 


be obliged,” he said gravely, then, seeing the look 
of alarm in her eyes he laughed. “You probably 
don’t know my name,” he said. 

As a matter of fact she did not and had been 
trying throughout the interview to take a sur- 
reptitious look at the catalogue. She knew it was 
something like Brixel. 

“Fonso Blaxton — ” he said shortly. “Fonso 
stands for Alphonso, a perfectly rotten name, isn’t 
it? It would be quite all right for an artist. If 
there’s any need to send flowers, my address is 
Oxford Chambers.” 

He shook hands abruptly, handed her into the 
car and closed the door. He waited only the 
briefest spell and had lifted his hat and vanished 
before the car had started. 

Moya drove back with so much to occupy her 
thoughts that she forgot to dream. So preoccu- 
pied was she, that she passed Sir Ralph Sapson 
and his chic companion turning into the park be- 
fore she was aware that he was bowing to her or 
had time to note anything more about the lady 
than that she was very beautifully gowned and 


AN ARTIST MAKES AN EXHIBITION 111 


that her sunshade was tilted at such an angle that 
it was impossible to see her face. 

“Who is your friend?” 

Sir Ralph turned with a smirk. 

“That, Princess.” he said, “is Lady Moya 
Felton.” 

“Oh, your fiancee,” said the girl, “isn’t it a 
bore being in London incognito; I should so much 
like to have met her.” 

“Perhaps some day,” said Ralph. 

“I should dearly love to,” murmured the girl; 
“but please go on, you interest me so much. I 
am beginning to realise why you English are so 
successful. You seem to know every detail of 
your business.” 

“Oh, dear no,” protested Sir Ralph good-hu- 
moredly. “I am rather a dunce if the truth be 
told, but one must know something of the details.” 

“Something!” said the girl, raising her eye- 
brows. “I think you are very modest. Why, 
you seem to know the workings of your railway 
system from beginning to end.” 

Sir Ralph stroked his moustache thoughtfully. 


142 


KATE PLUS 10 


“One has to go into things,” he said vaguely, 
“and of course one takes a lot of credit for things 
which one is not entitled to take credit for. But 
the gold train was my idea altogether.” 

“I never thought there was so much romance 
in business,” said the Princess, then suddenly, “do 
you mind telling the driver to turn about, I am 
tired of the park now.” 

He leaned forward and instructed the chauffeur 
and the big car circled round. 

“I am glad you suggested that,” he said. 

“Why?” she asked. 

“Did you notice a man in a grey felt hat talk- 
ing to a lady in a victoria?” 

She shook her head. 

“He’s a weird bird,” said Sir Ralph; “he is a 
policeman, Michael Pretherston, Lord Prether- 
ston’s brother. I don’t want to meet him, apart 
from the fact that he might recognize you, even 
through that veil of yours which would deny him 
so much happiness,” he added gallantly. 

“Tell me some more about the gold train,” she 
said. 


AN ARTIST MAKES AN EXHIBITION 143 


Nothing loath Sir Ralph explained. He told 
the story of the Seahampton Docks and the big 
liners which would be coming in and the new 
services he had inaugurated to meet the increased 
traffic. 

“We shall carry practically the whole of the 
gold which comes from the Rand mines,” he said 
impressively. “Naturally we have to be very 
careful although there is not much danger in Eng- 
land. The gold train is really two big safes on 
wheels. To outward appearance, they are just 
like ordinary closed railway trucks. In reality 
they are steel boxes, burglar proof and fire proof. 
Of course, nothing can go wrong and even if we 
had a smash the cars would be uninjured. But 
I have the best men on the system to run the 
train.” 

“How very fascinating,” she said intensely in- 
terested. “I suppose you have a most elaborate 
time-tabled” 

“I have worked out every detail myself,” he 
said. 

He took a note-book from his pocket. 


144 


KATE PLUS 10 


“I will show you, Princess,” he said impres- 
sively. 

He turned the gilt-edged leaves until he came 
to two pages covered with his fine writing. 

“You will get some idea of the work involved 
in the running of a special train,” he said; “here 
are the times. There is the driver’s name, the 
fireman’s name, the assistant fireman’s name, the 
names of the two guards.” 

She looked at the book. 

“I cannot read your writing very well,” she 
laughed; “you must not forget that my family 
was very old fashioned and my dear father never 
allowed us to learn the Roman alphabet until we 
were quite grown up. But I can see what a very 
difficult business it is.” 

She handed the book back to him with a little 
sigh. 

“I am afraid I am very stupid,” she said; 
“figures always bother me and I can see that you 
revel in them. I hate writing, but by the way 
your book is filled, it seems that you revel in it ! 
I cannot understand people who like to write. It 


AN ARTIST MAKES AN EXHIBITION 145 


is always an agony for me to compose an ordinary 
letter. My thoughts come so much faster than 
my poor hand can move.” 

She took a pad and pencil from the silver 
mounted stationery case in front of her. 

“I will show you something,” she said. 

She wrote rapidly, resting the pad on her knee 
and he watched her in astonishment as she pro- 
ceeded to fill the sheet. 

“There,” she said triumphantly, “that is what 
I can do best.” 

“It looks like shorthand,” he said. 

“It is something like Russian shorthand,” said 
the girl, “and I am such a lazy person that I 
always use it whenever I want to write a note. 
My secretary, who is the only person in the world 
who understands it, transcribes it. I do it because 
I hate writing.” 

“So you are clever, after all, Princess.” 

She reached out her little hand and patted his 
arm. 

“You don’t know how clever I am,” she said 
and they both laughed together. 


CHAPTER IX 

THE SHAREHOLDERS AND AN INTERRUPTION 

Colonel Westhanger looked at his watch. 

“She’s twenty minutes late already,” he said. 

Gregori rolled another cigarette and looked en- 
quiringly at Dr. Philip Garon who was fingering 
his trim beard and talking with some animation 
to the middle-aged pallid man, who was known 
to the world as Mr. Cunningham and to the police 
as an expert safe breaker. 

All Crime Street, with the exception of the ad- 
mirable Mr. Millet, was present. The Bishop 
with his large placid face was playing bezique 
with Francis Stockmar. Colling Jacques, who 
had the appearance of a prosperous butler who 
had settled down to the management of his own 
private hotel, was reading the newspaper. Mr. 

Mulberry, that respectable man with his grey side- 
146 


THE SHAREHOLDERS 


147 


whiskers and his sad dog-like eyes, was discussing 
Renaissance architecture with the other Stockmar 
and the Colonel, pacing the room impatiently, 
stopped now and again to fling a word to one or 
the other. 

Presently there was a slight sound in the hall 
below and the Colonel went to the door of the 
room. 

“She is here,” he said and passed out to the 
landing to meet Kate. 

She was wearing a dark coat-dress and a big 
black fox wrap which she loosened and flung off 
as she came into the room. It was notable that 
the Colonel, who had every right to complain of 
her unpunctuality, did not attempt to criticize her 
for her late arrival, other than to make mild refer- 
ence to the fact that he had expected her earlier. 

She looked around the room. 

“Where is Millet?” she asked. ^ 

“Millet is working on the telegrams,” he said 
and she nodded, satisfied. 

“Everything is ready now,” she said. “Did 
you see Boltover, Mr. Mulberry?” 


148 


KATE PLUS 10 


He rose and came toward her with that noise- 
less step of his. 

“A most amiable young man,” he said in his 
unctuous sing-song voice, “such a pleasant young 
man ! We had a very long talk together.” 

“And?” 

“We arranged everything.” 

He took a long envelope from his pocket, pulled 
out a stiff parchment and handed it to her with 
the gravity and deference of an ambassador de- 
livering a treaty to his sovereign lady. She ran 
her eyes quickly over the document, turned its 
crinkling page and read rapidly to the last flourish- 
ing signatures. 

“That’s all right,” she said and returned the 
document. 

The long table had been placed in the middle 
of the room and to this, without instructions, the 
whole of the company had drawn. Colonel West- 
hanger sat at one end and Kate at the other. 
From her bag she took a thick roll of manuscript, 
cut the strings that fastened it and smoothed the 
sheets out before her. One by one she called their 


THE SHAREHOLDERS 


149 


names at the same time handing them, in some 
cases one, in other cases two or three sheets covered 
with writing. 

“You have a week to master all this,” she said, 
“and in a week’s time we will meet again and 
I will see that everybody understands.” 

She caught Jacques’ eye. 

“About men*?” she said. “How many have 
you arranged for*?” 

“Sixty,” he said; “I have been bringing them 
into England for the past month.” 

“Will sixty be enough*?” she asked dubiously. 
“How many did we use for the Bank of Edin- 
burgh?” 

“That was a different job,” said Jacques; “we 
had to cut through thirty feet of concrete. I used 
two hundred and twenty in relays of thirty.” 

“Sixty will be quite enough,” she said after a 
moment’s thought. “You will see that I have al- 
lowed only for fifty, but if they are the right kind 
of people — ” 

“They are all good men, most of them from 
Italy, a few of them from France and one Portu- 


150 


KATE PLUS 10 


guese. They are the pick of my men and repre- 
sent years of organisation.” 

“You have full details there, Cunningham,” 
she said, turning to that dour man. “I took a 
shorthand note about the gold train, the driver 
and the officials who will be on the train and I 
have all their addresses except one. You will 
find a cross against that; I think the address is 
Berne Street, Seahampton, but I had no time to 
verify it.” 

“This will be easy,” said Cunningham, reading 
his instructions; “these times won’t be altered, I 
suppose?” 

“If they are, I shall know all about it,” said 
the girl. “Everyone must make a note of those 
instructions in your own code and you must do 
it pretty quickly.” 

“What’s the hurry?” asked Westhanger, who, 
alone of the men about the table, had received no 
paper. 

“I want to see every sheet burnt before we leave 
the room,” she said. 

The Colonel frowned. 


THE SHAREHOLDERS 


151 


“But — ” he began. 

“I want all the papers burnt before we leave 
the room,” she said again emphatically. 

Her uncle growled but the others knew her well 
enough to realize that she had an excellent reason. 
Each man in his own way, some in note-books, 
some on the back of loose sheets of paper faith- 
fully transcribed the instructions, using their own 
pet abbreviations, their own particular symbols 
and one by one, as fast as they completed their 
copies, the girl collected the papers, heard the in- 
structions read over, corrected one, amended an- 
other and finally gathering all the sheets in 
her hand, she walked to the fireplace, deposited 
them in the grate and set a lighted match to 
them. 

She watched them burn until they were black 
ash and put her foot upon them crushing the em- 
bers to dust. 

“Are you nervous?” asked the Colonel sar- 
castically. 

“Are you?” she asked coolly. 

“Well it does seem a little — ” 


152 


KATE PLUS 10 


From the corner of the room came a soft but 
insistent purr. 

The men jumped to their feet. 

“Put away the tables quickly,” said the girl 
under her breath. 

They separated the table into three parts. 
With an agility remarkable in one of his years the 
Colonel flung a cloth over each, lifted a pot of 
flowers on to one, arranged a photograph on an- 
other and left the third to the bezique players. 
The girl seated herself at the piano, opened it and 
began a soft movement from “Rigoletto.” 

“Sing,” she said under her breath. 

The obedient Mr. Mulberry shuffled up to her 
side. He had a pleasing voice and the girl picked 
up the strain. . . . 

“I am sorry to disturb the harmony,” said 
Michael Pretherston from the doorway. 

“May I ask what is the meaning of this intru- 
sion 4 ?” demanded Colonel Westhanger haughtily 
as half-a-dozen Scotland Yard men crowded into 
the room behind their chief. 

“It is what is vulgarly known as a raid,” said 


THE SHAREHOLDERS 


153 


Michael. “Everybody will remain where he is 
while I run a foot rule over him. Parsons, you 
will take these gentlemen one by one into an ad- 
joining room and search him most thoroughly. 
Mrs. Gray,” he called to the door and a stout mid- 
dle-aged woman with a pleasant face appeared, 
“you will perform the same kind office for Miss 
Westhanger.” 

“Why not ‘Kate’?” asked the girl scornfully. 
“You are getting polite in your old age, Mike.” 

“Miss Westhanger,” he repeated suavely. 

“Suppose I refuse to be searched?” 

“Then I shall convey you to a vulgar police 
station,” said Michael, “and the process of search 
will be carried out in uncongenial surround- 
ings.” 

“I take it that you have a warrant?” demanded 
Colonel Westhanger. 

“My dear Colonel!” said Michael. “Do you 
imagine I should come without having gone 
through that little formality?” 

He produced the document. 

“Signed by two stipendary magistrates to be 


154 


KATE PLUS 10 


absolutely sure,” he said flippantly; “impound all 
documents you find, Parsons.” 

“Yes, sir,” said the man and led away the first 
of his victims which happened to be the docile 
Mr. Mulberry. 

“It is an unpleasant business,” sighed Michael 
as he watched the girl pass from the room fol- 
lowed by her searcher, “but then, you will under- 
stand, Colonel, that our profession is full of heart- 
rending moments. You are still on ticket of 
leave, I understand?” 

“Expired,” growled Colonel Westhanger. 

“Pardon me,” said Michael. “I have been mis- 
informed. I would like a word with you.” 

He led the other to the corner of the room out 
of earshot and the good humor died out of his 
voice as he confronted the older man. 

“Westhanger,” he said, “who was the tutor of 
this girl?” 

“I don’t quite get you?” said the other in- 
solently. 

“Who taught Kate to be a thief — is that plain 
enough for you?” 


THE SHAREHOLDERS 


155 


“If she is a thief it is a matter of aptitude. I 
deny that she is a thief or that she is a party 
to any illegal act of which my unfortunate 
friends may have been guilty — nobody taught 
her.” 

“You are a queer fellow,” said Michael. “I 
suppose you are just unmoral.” 

“My personal character — ” began the other. 

“By unmoral, I mean you have no sense of 
trieum and teum . In other words, you are a born 
thief. You forgive me, but subtlety seems to be 
wasted on you. I ask you again, who educated 
Kate?” 

The Colonel smiled. 

“Kate has much to thank me for,” he said 
smugly. “I have been a father and more than 
a father to that child and I assure you, Mr. Pre- 
therston, that you are altogether wrong when you 
think that she is a thief. Why do you ask?” he 
demanded, suddenly breaking off. 

“Because,” said Michael looking him steadily 
in the eye, “I believe that you have deliberately 
set yourself to exploit the genius of a clever child 


156 


KATE PLUS 10 


for your own profit. I believe that you, and you 
only, have so distorted her viewpoint that you 
have destroyed her soul. I am not sure yet,” he 
admitted, “but when I am — ” 

“When you are,” sneered the Colonel. 

“On one charge or another, I shall put you into 
prison,” said Michael simply, “and I shall keep 
you in prison until you are dead. I will set my- 
self the agreeable task of ensuring your end in a 
prison infirmary — which, I understand, is not a 
very cheerful place.” 

The Colonel shuddered. There was something 
fateful, there was something malignant, a scarcely 
suppressed expression of hate in the police officer’s 
tone. For a second the older man wilted and 
shrunk back beneath the fierce intensity in 
Michael’s voice and then, like the weakling that 
he was, he burst into a torrent of abuse which was 
founded in fear and energised by rage. 

“Damn you,” he hissed; “threaten me! . . . 
I will have your coat off your back, you damned 
policeman! ... You sneaking slop! . . . 
Kate’s what she' is. She will beat you and all 


THE SHAREHOLDERS 


157 


your flat-footed pals! If she’s bad, you can’t 
make her anything else. I made her, yes, I made 
her ! She is going to beat you, do you hear, and 
you will never catch her or me. I made her! 
You can’t scare me . . . !” 

His shrill voice trembled with anger, he was 
shaking from head to foot and the bony fist which 
shivered in Michael’s face was so tightly clenched 
that the knuckles stood out whitely. 

“She is not the kind you can cure with psalms, 
Mr. Policeman ! Y ou can’t pray over her because 
she has nothing to pray to, do you hear that 4 ? 
You caught me. You sent me to that hell at 
Wandsworth and I am going to get back on you, 
you and all people like you. Kate’s the biggest 
thing you have handled and she is going to break 
you, break you !” 

“Uncle!” 

He turned round to meet the white face of the 
girl. 

“Are you mad 4 ?” she asked quietly. 

He dropped his eyes before hers. 

“He got me rattled,” he muttered. 


158 


KATE PLUS TEN 


Michael looked at the searcher and the woman 
shook her head. 

With a nod he dismissed her. 

“Not guilty !” he said flippantly. 

He looked at the trembling man in front of him 
with a calm intensity. 

“I shall remember a lot of what you said, West- 
hanger, and you will hear from me one of these 
days.” 

He walked over to the fireplace, for out of the 
tail of his eye he had seen the burnt paper. He 
thrust a finger gently through the ash. 

“Still warm,” he said. “I gather we were a 
little late.” 

He scooped out a handful of the ash and carried 
it to the light. A word or two of the burnt in- 
structions was still faintly visible but there was 
nothing to assist him. Nevertheless he had the 
whole of the ashes carefully deposited in a box 
and carried away — he himself being the last of 
the police to leave. 

He stood in the centre of the room carefully 
smoothing the nap of his felt hat and Crime Street 


THE SHAREHOLDERS 


159 


waited for the inevitable warning. In this they 
were disappointed, for Michael addressed himself 
solely to Kate. 

“I will give you a chance, Miss Westhanger,” 
he said and they wondered why he did not employ 
the more familiar style of address. “You are 
about to commit a crime which will render every 
one of you liable to long terms of penal servitude. 
What that crime is, I don’t know, but I am certain 
it is what Stockmar would call ‘kolossal.’ It 
would not matter to me if everyone of you rotted 
in prison for the rest of your lives.” 

“Tank you,” said Mr. Stockmar, “dat is fery 
goot of you !” 

“When I say everyone of you,” said Michael, 
“I exclude Kate. She is a young girl and if there 
is one of you who has any pretensions to manhood, 
you will get her out of this gang before you go 
any farther. If there is one of you who has a 
mother or a sister or any woman in the world for 
whom he has the slightest respect, he will try to 
save that child from herself. That is all.” 

The meek Mr. Mulberry stood by the piano, 


160 


KATE PLUS 10 


his plump fingers ranged across the keys producing 
a melancholy symphony. 

“We will now sing Hymn 847,” he said, in 
his melancholy oily voice and it was in the burst 
of laughter that this sally provoked, that Michael 
Pretherston took his leave, followed at a respect- 
ful distance down the stairs by Colonel West- 
hanger, who did not breathe freely until the front 
door had clanged behind his unwelcome visitor 
and until the oiled bolts shot home in their sock- 
ets. 

“Where’s Kate 4 ?” he asked on his return. 

“Such nonsense,” growled the elder Stockmar, 
“she has to the high-room gone to make scare mit 
Predderston.” 

Michael, at the far end of Crime Street, was 
taking leave of his assistants when there cut into 
the quiet night a sound almost terrifying in its 
unexpectedness. 

It could only be described as a hollow shriek 
which rose and fell from a wailing scream to a 
throaty sob. It lasted no more than ten seconds 
and stopped as unexpectedly as it began. 


THE SHAREHOLDERS 


161 


“What’s that?” asked the startled sergeant. 
Michael scratched his chin. 

“The Colonel in hysterics,” he suggested cal- 
lously. Nevertheless, the noise puzzled him. 


CHAPTER X 


SIR RALPH LOST A PRINCESS AND FOUND A 
POLICEMAN 

Michael took the card from the uniformed con- 
stable and raised his eye-brows in surprise. 

“Sir Ralph Sapson,” he said, “what the dick- 
ens does he want?” 

The constable made no reply, for he was neither 
thought-reader nor inquisitive. 

“Show him in,” said Michael. 

Sir Ralph Sapson had never before called at 
Scotland House or showed the slightest desire to 
improve his acquaintance with Michael and the 
visit was therefore a little puzzling. Ralph 
bustled in, less important than usual and prob- 
ably somewhat overawed by the difficulty he had 
experienced in reaching his objective. 

“I daresay you wonder why I have called,” he 
said. 


162 


SIR RALPH LOST A PRINCESS 163 

“As long as it isn’t to take me out to lunch, I 
don’t care,” said Michael with a laugh. “Sit 
down, Ralph, and tell me all your troubles. By 
the way,” he said as the thought occurred to him, 
“I suppose you are not in any kind of trouble, are 
you?” 

“That’s just it, Michael,” said the other de- 
positing his silk hat carefully on the ground; “I 
am really worried over two matters and knowing 
what a good chap you are and how very nice you 
have been to me — ” 

“Don’t be silly,” said Michael kindly, “I have 
not been nice to you and I am not a good chap. 
Have you lost something?” 

“I want to see you on two matters,” said Sir 
Ralph, who was given to preambles; “they are 
altogether different and one, of course, is not a 
police matter at all — I merely want your advice 
as a friend. Do you know the Princess Bach- 
effski?” 

“I don’t know Her Royal Highness, Her Se- 
rene Highness, or Her Nibs as the case may 
be.” 


164 


KATE PLUS 10 


“She is neither,” said the other, “she is the wife 
of Prince Dimitri Bacheffski, who is a large land- 
owner in Poland.” 

Michael shook his head. 

“The world is filled with the wives of princes 
who are large land-owners in Poland,” he said. 

“I met her in Paris,” explained Sir Ralph. 

“When I said the world,” said Michael, “I 
meant Paris. What has she done, stolen your 
watch 4 ?” 

“Please don't be an ass,” said the other tes- 
tily; “I tell you she is a princess and enormously 
wealthy. She had a row with her husband and 
came to London and I have seen a great deal of 
her. Yesterday, when I called to take her driv- 
ing, I found that she had gone away, left without 
a word, paid her bill at the furnished flat she had 
taken and vanished — ” 

“Gone back to her husband, I suppose,” said 
Michael ; “I have heard of such thipgs happening. 
You will not hear from her until a suit is filed 
for divorce and then the newspapers will be filled 
with grisly details, about your directorships, your 


SIR RALPH LOST A PRINCESS 165 


early life and your hobbies; also the Sunday pa- 
pers will publish your portrait.” 

Sir Ralph wagged his head in despair. 

“If I thought you would have taken this kind 
of view I would not have come,” he said severely; 
“there is nothing of that kind in this business. 
She is just a lady whom I had helped very slightly 
and who had been kind enough to give me her 
confidence.” 

“Do you want me to find her 4 ?” said the other 
in surprise. 

“No, that isn’t it,” said Sir Ralph. “The 
story has a curious sequel. This morning I was 
in the city and I met a friend who asked me to 
lunch with him. I had a lot of business to get 
through and it was not until ten to one that I 
was able to get away. My car was not in the 
city but I thought I should have no difficulty in 
getting a taxi. When I got into the street, how- 
ever, it was pouring with rain and not a taxi 
could be had for love or money. It was only a 
few steps to the Bank station and I decided to go 
by tube.” 


166 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Sensation !” said the admiring Michael. 

“Well, to cut a long story short,” said Sir 
Ralph, “I travelled to Oxford Circus and changed 
into a train which took me to the Thames Em- 
bankment. Here comes the extraordinary part 
of the story,” he said impressively; “as I came up 
the escalator on the one side, the Princess passed 
down on the other.” 

“Yes?” said Michael unimpressed. 

“She was plainly, even poorly dressed,” said 
Ralph. “I raised my hat to her but she stared 
at me as though she had never seen me before in 
her life.” 

“You made a mistake probably,” said the 
other. 

“I will swear it was she,” said Sir Ralph em- 
phatically. “There was no mistaking her. She 
has a very tiny mole just below the right ear, 
which I had seen — ” 

“Eh?” 

Michael was all attention now. 

“A tiny mole beneath the right ear,” he re- 
peated, and went on, “dark grey eyes, large, 


SIR RALPH LOST A PRINCESS 167 


well marked eye-brows, very delicate mouth and 
rounded chin*?” 

“That is she. Good Lord !” cried Sir Ralph 
in amazement. “Do you know her?” 

“Oh, yes, I know her,” said Michael grimly; 
“now let me hear the story of this Princess all 
over again. How did you come to meet her?” 

“I met her in Paris. She was introduced to 
me after the opera,” said Sir Ralph patiently; 
“as a matter of fact, I forgot all about it until 
she reminded me of the fact.” 

“Ah, this is where the story begins,” said Mi- 
chael; “when did she remind you of the fact?” 

Sir Ralph detailed briefly the unconventional 
character of the meeting. 

“I see,” said Michael, “her car had broken 
down providentially just outside your house. 
Beautiful and most gorgeously arrayed, how could 
you resist her pathetic appeal? And so that is 
how you met her, is it? Oh, Kate, Kate!” he 
shook his head. 

“Kate !” asked the bewildered magnate. “What 
on earth are you talking about?” 


168 


KATE PLUS 10 


Michael took no notice of the question. 

“I must ask you to give me a more detailed ac- 
count of your meetings. Of course, you met her 
afterwards.” 

“Yes, I met her. And she was very charm- 
ing,” said Sir Ralph. 

“And particularly interested in business?” 
asked Michael. 

“No, she did not know much about business. 
There you are wrong. You are trying to prove 
that she is an adventuress. She knew nothing 
whatever about business,” said Sir Ralph triumph- 
antly; “in fact, I had to explain things over and 
over again.” 

Michael leant over and patted his arm as he 
might have done to a distraught child. 

“What things did you explain, little man?” he 
asked. 

Here, however, he lost the trail for, either be- 
cause he could not or would not remember, Sir 
Ralph was very vague at this point. Michael 
sat at his desk, his head between his hands think- 
ing rapidly. 


SIR RALPH LOST A PRINCESS 169 


First Flanborough, then Boltover, and now 
Ralph Sapson, — what was the association'? 

“Have you any business dealings with Flan- 
borough ?” he asked. 

“What do you mean?” asked Ralph cautiously. 

“Is there any connection between your com- 
panies?” 

“My dear chap, what a question to ask,” said 
Sir Ralph. “You know, as well as I, that all 
businesspeople, who operate on a big scale, are 
associated in some way or other. I run railways 
and quarries and things, and Flanborough runs 
ships and gold mines. I am interested in his 
things and he has shares in mine.” 

Being a business man he did not tell Michael 
of the arrangement which he had entered into for 
the benefit of the unthriving port of Seahampton, 
because it is the way of business men to be mys- 
terious and uninforming about the commonplaces 
of commercial intercourse. 

“Well, that’s that,” said Ralph after waiting 
in vain for some illuminating observation from 
his friend. 


KATE PLUS 10 


170 

“And what is the other matter?” 

Here Sir Ralph found it more difficult to make 
a beginning. 

“It is rather a delicate subject, Michael,” he 
said, “for it touches my personal honour.” 

“Dear, dear,” said Michael sympathetically, 
and, if the truth be told, a little mechanically, 
because his mind was occupied elsewhere with a 
greater and more important problem., than with 
the personal honour of the Sapsons. 

“And not only that, but the honour of some- 
body we both admire,” said Sir Ralph awkwardly. 
“The fact is, Michael, I am engaged to Moya. 
It isn’t generally known, but it is so and naturally 
I haven’t seen as much of her as I could have 
wished in this past week. Also I have been a 
very busy man.” 

“Naturally,” said Michael sympathetically. 
“You have already told me about the Princess, 
you remember.” 

“Well, you are a man of the world,” said Sir 
Ralph, going very red, “and you will understand. 
Anyway, I haven’t seen as much of Moya as I 


SIR RALPH LOST A PRINCESS 171 


could have wished. The fact is,” he blurted out, 
“Moya is carrying on !” 

“Carrying on,” said the puzzled Michael, 
“carrying on what, or whom?” 

“She meets him every day in the park and they 
go sketching together in the country,” said Sir 
Ralph rapidly. “I haven’t spoken to Flanbor- 
ough about it, but it is all rather rotten.” 

“If by ‘carrying on’ you mean that Moya is 
indulging in a flirtation, it is not only very rot- 
ten, but it must have been very awkward for you,” 
said Michael, “unless you could be perfectly cer- 
tain of your fiancee’s movements, you and your 
Princess were liable at any moment to run against 
her. It was very inconsiderate of Moya. Who 
is her friend?” 

“A beastly artist,” said Ralph savagely, “a 
man w r ho had an exhibition of simply rotten pic- 
tures. I don’t think he has a bob in the world, 
and he’s a most untidy looking person. I have 
seen them together with my own eyes and he treats 
Moya outrageously. And Moya seems to like 
it.” 


172 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Does he beat her or anything?” asked Mi- 
chael wearily. 

He was growing tired of the interview and 
wanted to be alone to work out the new combina- 
tion which had been presented to him. 

“He compromises her,” said Ralph with ve- 
hemence; “holds her hand and calls her ‘child’ in 
public. It is simply disgraceful J” 

“You can trust Moya,” said Michael, “she will 
do nothing which jeopardises her prospects.” 

“She has plenty of money of her own,” inter- 
rupted Ralph. 

“It is curious how your mind runs to money. 
I wasn’t thinking of that. I was thinking of her 
social prospects. She is a very shrewd girl. A 
little romance will do her no harm, Ralph.” 

“But, hang it, she’s got me!” said Ralph 
wrathfully. 

“I said ‘romance,’ ” said Michael with offen- 
sive emphasis; “you’re not ‘romance,’ you’re ‘busi- 
ness.’ ” 

But Sir Ralph was not satisfied. 

“Perhaps if you saw her and had a few words 


SIR RALPH LOST A PRINCESS 173 


with her,” he suggested, “she might take a little 
notice.” 

“I should leave her presence a mental and phys- 
ical wreck,” said Michael decidedly. “No, 
Ralph, you must manage your own love making 
without calling in the — er, police.” (Sir Ralph 
winced.) “I don't know Moya well enough to 
give her advice on so delicate a matter — I only 
proposed to her once and that has given me no 
right to urge your suit. One question I should 
like to ask you before you go,” he said as Sir 
Ralph gathered up his hat and gloves. “Did 
the Princess question you about any bank with 
which you are associated?” 

“I can answer you definitely, that she did not,” 
replied Sir Ralph. “You have an altogether 
wrong impression of that lady — in my judg- 
ment.” 

“ Your judgment!” said Michael scornfully, as 
he ushered him out of the room. 


CHAPTER XI 


LADY MOYA WAS CURIOUSLY UNLIKE 
HERSELF 

There was a greater reason for Sir Ralph’s per- 
turbation than either he knew or Michael guessed. 
Both might have been enlightened, had they 
stood on Cannon Street Station one Sunday morn- 
ing and seen the distress of Mr. Alphonso Blax- 
ton as the big minute hand of the station clock 
grew nearer to nine. The guard was closing the 
doors of the carriages and the collector was pre- 
paring to shut the gate, when Moya came flying 
breathlessly through the barrier. 

“Oh, I am so sorry!” she gasped; “my watch 
stopped.” 

Mr. Alphonso Blaxton bundled her into an 
empty first-class carriage and jumped in himself 
as the train moved. 


174 


LADY MOYA UNLIKE HERSELF 175 


“There’s not another train for three hours,” he 
said severely. 

“We could have gone to church.” 

“What a mind !” said the young man in admira- 
tion. “I never thought of church !” 

“Anyway, I didn’t lose the train,” she said 
tartly. “Have you brought everything 4 ?” 

She looked round for the collapsible easel, the 
paint boxes and the paraphernalia which usually 
accompanied their sketching tours. 

“I have brought nothing,” he said frankly. 

“But how can you sketch?” 

“I am not going to sketch,” he said. “I de- 
cided that it was too nice a day to waste.” 

She looked up at him and laughed. 

“You will never be an artist,” she said, sud- 
denly severe. “To what part of the country are 
we going?” 

“I thought we would go to Maidstone. There 
are some lovely drives from there. I’ve hired a 
motor car to meet us at the station and I thought 
we would go through Sussex and lunch at Sea- 
hampton.” 


176 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Not Seahampton,” she said quickly; “my 
father is at Seahampton to-day.” 

She might have added that Sir Ralph was also 
at Seahampton, but, for reasons of her own, she 
kept that information to herself because Sir 
Ralph was not a subject which she had found it 
necessary to discuss. She looked at her compan- 
ion approvingly. 

“You are ever so much more presentable than 
I have ever seen you, before,” she said, “and you 
have actually shaved! You are getting less and 
less like an artist every day.” 

He had a peculiarly sweet smile and a laugh 
which was all bubbling youth and happiness. He 
laughed like a girl, indeed it nearly approached 
a giggle. He laughed now as the train sped 
through the suburban stations, stretched out his 
feet on the cushions opposite and searched for a 
cigarette. She watched him with glee as he pro- 
duced, not the ornate case in which the men of 
her acquaintance carried the expensive products 
of Egypt and Syria, but a gaudy yellow carton 
containing fifty of the cheapest cigarettes that 


LADY MOYA UNLIKE HERSELF 177 

ever brought discredit to the fair State of Vir- 
ginia. 

“Do you like those things?’ she asked. 

“These ‘yellow perils’? Rather!” 

“Your taste is awfully uncultivated, isn’t it?” 
she bantered; “why don’t you — ” she abruptly 
attempted to change the subject by an incoherent 
reference to a cow which was gazing in a field by 
the side of the line. 

“Why don’t I smoke gold-laced Machinopolos 
through an amber and diamond cigarette holder?” 
he suggested. “Because, little Moya, I am a poor 
hard-working artist who has been saving up all 
the week for this bust.” 

“I am so sorry,” she said; “I am awfully 
thoughtless. Won’t you forgive me?” 

“I won’t forgive you,” he said, “unless you 
keep in your mind the big fact that I am as im- 
mensely poor, as you are immensely rich.” 

“Why should I keep that in my mind?” she 
asked. 

“Because,” he said slowly, “until you are im- 
/ mensely poor or I am immensely rich we shall 


178 


KATE PLUS 10 


meet very occasionally and indulge in very infre- 
quent busts.” 

“But what difference does money make?” she 
faltered. 

She found it difficult to speak plainly or even 
clearly. There was a lump in her throat which 
made her voice sound unnaturally hoarse. She 
had a strange sinking feeling within her and to 
her amazement she found the hand that she put 
up to brush back a stray curl trembling. She 
had never experienced any such sensation before. 
Her heart was thumping quickly ; she was breath- 
less, hot and cold by turns. 

He did not answer. She was seated by his 
side and she could only see his face out of the 
corner of her eyes, then she felt his arm slipping 
about her and before she knew what had hap- 
pened, his lips were pressed to hers. 

This happened in a first-class railway carriage 
on a non-stop train. It had happened before to 
quite common people (as Moya had heard), but 
she never thought it would possibly happen to 


LADY MOYA UNLIKE HERSELF 179 


her, or that so vulgar a proceeding could be so 
wonderfully sweet. 

Sir Ralph and Lord Flanborough had met the 
local authorities. There had been a lunch and 
speeches in which Sir Ralph had distinguished 
himself by likening the forthcoming arrival of the 
Austral -African mail ship to the return of Ulysses 
and the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. A wire- 
less message from the ship stated that she did 
not expect to make harbour until nine o’clock 
in the evening, and this explained the earlier fes- 
tivities. That they were of a sober and restricted 
nature, was explained by the fact that the day 
was Sunday. Later, it was intended that the 
sailings of the Austral -African line from Cape 
Town should be timed to bring the ships to port 
on the Saturday, but there had been no time to 
alter the arrangements for the Charter Queen had 
sailed before Lord Flanborough and Sir Ralph 
had definitely decided the date on which the new 
service should be inaugurated. 


180 


KATE PLUS 10 


A few press-men who had come down from 
London for the purpose, with certain directors 
and their wives, were shown over the docks; the 
new trains were admired and particularly two 
brand new trucks, the peculiar character of which 
was exhibited by Sir Ralph to a select few of his 
fellow directors. A safe on wheels was an ex- 
cellent description for one of these. Specially 
strengthened under-carriages, each truck supported 
by two bogies, they were designed to carry a tre- 
mendous weight. 

“I am sure Lord Flanborough doesn’t mind my 
telling you,” said Sir Ralph to the little party, 
“that this will carry twenty tons of bar gold to- 
night.” 

“What will be the value of that?” asked one 
of the interested audience. 

“£2,867,200,” said Sir Ralph impressively; 
“representing six months’ output of the whole of 
Lord Flanborough’s gold properties.” 

The directors made appropriate noises to sig- 
nify their astonishment. 

There were visitors to Seahampton interested 


LADY MOYA UNLIKE HERSELF 181 


in this great transportation, who were not invited 
to participate in the function. One of these, a 
dark foreign looking man, went no nearer to the 
docks than a little public house in the ancient 
High Street. He was visited by a man who was 
pallid of face and laconic of speech. 

“It’s all up !” he said under his breath. 

“What is wrong?” said the other in the same 
tone. 

“It is quite impossible to get the driver or the 
fireman. They are two old servants of the com- 
pany, both have money saved and would no more 
think of accepting a bribe than Flanborough him- 
self.” 

“You didn’t press the matter, I hope?” asked 
the other quickly. 

The pallid man shook his head. 

“I went as far as I dared with the driver,” he 
said. “I found out he had a son in the army in 
India and I told him that I had met the boy and 
got quite friendly with the old chap — but he is a 
sea-green incorruptible, Gregori.” 

“I will get on the ’phone to Kate,” said the 


182 


KATE PLUS 10 


other. “I suppose we shall have to hold up the 
train somewhere — I don’t want to do any shoot- 
ing if it can be avoided. Are the drivers armed?” 

“It is funny you should ask that,” said the 
pallid man, sipping his beer. “The old man is 
armed for the first time in his life. He was full 
of it and quite proud of his ability to loose off a 
gun.” 

Gregori looked very serious. 

“Kate must be prepared with the alternative 
scheme,” he said. “Anyway, you will join me 
here with Cunningham at eight o’clock. I am 
perfectly prepared for almost all contingencies. 
Millet has given me a dozen authorities to meet 
almost any developments. Did you see the 
train?” 

“I couldn’t get near it,” said the other. “I 
left just before Sapson brought his party to make 
their inspection.” 

Sir Ralph had carried his guests from the sid- 
ing to the engine shed and shown them the brand 
new Atlantic locomotive which was to draw the 
train to London. 


LADY MOYA UNLIKE HERSELF 183 


“They don’t seem to have finished it yet,” said 
one of the guests, and pointed to a workman bus- 
ily drilling a hole in the front plate. 

Ralph laughed. 

“They omitted to put a bracket for the lamp. 
You see, I wanted three green lights in a line 
for the Gold Train — it is very necessary that it 
should be very accurately and easily distinguished 
and signalled. By some chance only two of the 
brackets were in place when the engine came 
from the works. It is all the more annoying, be- 
cause I had already given definite instructions 
upon that point, but we shall not go wrong for a 
lamp,” he said humorously. 

It is agreed that the three hours between two 
and five on a Sunday afternoon are the three 
dullest in the hundred and sixty-eight which con- 
stitute a week. After the guests had left for 
London Sir Ralph and Lord Flanborough re- 
mained at the little station hotel — Ralph had 
already projected a more palatial establishment 
to meet the increased traffic — for it had been ar** 


184 


KATE PLUS 10 


ranged that they should greet the Charter Queen 
on her arrival. 

At three o’clock that afternoon Ralph burst 
unceremoniously into Lord Flanborough’s private 
sitting room where his lordship sat dozing. 

“Have you had a wire*?” he said. 

He held a pink form in his own hand. 

“A wire! What about?” asked Lord Flan- 
borough startled. 

“Read this.” 

The telegram was signed “Michael,” and read: 

“Simultaneous attempt made to burgle your 
strong room at Austral-African office and Flan- 
borough’s safe at headquarters of mining corpora- 
tion. Both unsuccessful. Both doors blown out 
by nitro-gelatine. Will confirm by ’phone.” 

Lord Flanborough looked at the other open- 
mouthed. 

“This is very serious,” he said. 

“I have ordered a special to take us to town. 
We will wait till we get the ’phone message 
through.” 


LADY MOYA UNLIKE HERSELF 185 


Ten minutes after they were in communication 
with Michael. 

“Both doors have been blown out,” he re- 
peated, “and there are one or two very puzzling 
features about the burglaries. Nobody could 
have been present in either office when the explo- 
sions occurred. There was no fire and, so far as 
I can see, nothing has been taken away. You 
had better come up and examine things for your- 
self.” 

“It is rather awkward,” said Sir Ralph thought- 
fully as he hung up the receiver; “my "spe- 
cial’ driver is also the driver of the gold spe- 
cial.” 

“It doesn’t require any great genius to drive a 
gold special,” snapped Flanborough; “put another 
man on to work to-night’s train and let us get up 
to town as soon as we can.” 

The special was waiting in the station by the 
time they had reached the platform. Sir Ralph 
stayed long enough to give a few instructions to 
the superintendent and then boarded the train and 
was soon flying northward. 


186 


KATE PLUS 10 


That Sunday morning had been an interesting 
one for Michael. He had been aroused by tele- 
phone at five o’clock only to learn from an apolo- 
getic operator that the wrong number had been 
called. Although it was two hours before he 
usually rose, he had his bath and dressed and not 
waking his servants made himself some coffee. 

It was a bright morning, such as so often pre- 
cedes a day of rain, when he turned Into the de- 
serted street. He had no particular aim or 
destination but he was in that mood which invites 
exercise. He walked down the Marylebone Road 
and through Portland Place without meeting any- 
body save an occasional policeman and so came to 
Piccadilly Circus where he bought a Sunday news- 
paper from an early vendor and passed down 
through Waterloo Place to the Park. 

The gates had only just been opened and beyond 
the park-keepers and a slouching tramp he met no- 
body. He sat on one of the garden seats by the 
side of the lake, pulled his overcoat about his legs 
for the morning was chilly and began to scan the 
headlines in the newspaper. There was nothing 


LADY MOYA UNLIKE HERSELF 187 


startling here, but he read the columns conscien- 
tiously. 

There was nothing in life which did not interest 
Michael Pretherston. He might have taken for 
his motto homo sum ; humani nihil a me alienum 
puto . It was a saying of T. B. Smith’s that 
Michael could even write a readable volume on 
the psychology of dog-fights. Every little lar- 
ceny, however sordid, every tiny embezzlement 
however paltry, every swindle whether it was 
carried out by the great confidence men who 
“worked London” or by the smaller fry in the 
half-crown line of business gave him food for re- 
flection and some little scrap of information which 
he stored away for future use. 

He was in the midst of a long account of an 
East End arson charge when he heard his name 
called softly and looked up. He jumped to his 
feet. 

“Why, Kate,” he said, “haven’t you got any 
home 4 ?” 

The girl was standing a few feet from him with 
an odd look on her face. 


188 


KATE PLUS 10 


“I think it must be fate that brought me out 
this morning,” she said; “sit down, Mike, and tell 
me all the news.” 

She showed no sign of resentment of his un- 
cavalier treatment. 

“Did you follow me here, or did I follow you*?” 

“I tell you it was fate,” she said. “I could not 
sleep and I drove my Mercedes down.” 

“And how is the Princess Bacheff ski ?” he asked 
as she seated herself by his side. 

“The Princess — ?” 

“Bacheffski — poor old Ralph! What a thing 
to put over him!” 

She leant forward, her chin on her palm, her 
elbow on her crossed knee. 

“You frighten me sometimes,” she said. “I 
have not been able to make up my mind whether 
you are clever or whether you are lucky.” 

“I am both lucky and clever,” he said. “Tell 
me something about your property in the Ural 
Mountains,” he said. 

“In Poland,” she corrected him. 

“Mines, I suppose?” , 


LADY MOYA UNLIKE HERSELF 189 


“There are no mines on my property,” she said 
calmly; “would you be greatly surprised if I told 
you I had an estate in Poland?” 

“Nothing you said would surprise me, unless 
you told me you were going to be a good girl and 
respect the law relating to property.” 

He folded his paper and dropped it into a wire 
receptacle provided for that purpose and she fol- 
lowed the operations with amusement. 

“What a tidy soul you are,” she said; “fancy 
doing things you are told and obeying even by- 
laws.” 

“We all obey by-laws. You are not so orig- 
inal as you think. For instance, I observe that 
you are wearing a little toque — is that the word?” 

“That is the word,” she agreed. 

“Toques are fashionable at this present moment. 
You are obeying the by-laws. You haven’t the 
courage to come out in a sky-blue tam-o’shanter 
with an ostrich feather because it is against the 
by-laws. Also I remark that your dress is very 
short and very full. You are not wearing a 
Roman toga or a Grecian gown, or even a hobble 


190 


KATE PLUS 10 


skirt. Why? Because it is against the by-laws. 
It is absurd to disobey one set and slavishly obey 
another.” 

“You are quaint!” was the only answer she 
gave. 

“Will you tell me, Princess*?” 

“Don’t call me ‘Princess’ if you please,” she 
said quietly. 

“Well, will you tell me, my land-owner, what 
was the game with Ralph? He described you 
with the greatest enthusiasm by- the- way. The 
night you met him you were all dolled up to kill. 
Did you bring down your birds?” 

“I got him,” she admitted. 

She was not as bright as usual. 

“You are over-doing it,” said Michael; “you 
are trying to do too much. Your doctor would 
probably tell you that you ought not to commit 
more than one burglary a month.” 

She laughed softly. 

“You are very quaint,” she said again. 

“You don’t feel like making a full and frank 
confession, I suppose,” he suggested; “you would 


LADY MOYA UNLIKE HERSELF 191 


not like to burst into tears and sob out your young 
heart on my shoulder?” 

“That sob stuff never did agree with me.” 

He raised a disapproving hand. 

“Kate,” he said, “I have noticed a disposition 
in you to adopt the slang which is employed ex- 
clusively by American newspaper reporters, vaude- 
ville artistes and other members of the criminal 
classes.” 

“I will tell you this,” she said sitting upright 
and looking him fully in the face, “we are going 
to do a big thing. The most colossal, the most 
daring that has ever been done and we are going 
to do it to-day. You want to know why I went 
to Flanborough’s, why I made up to that unspeak- 
able person, Ralph Sapson? Those are my two 
victims. I will tell you more than this,” she said 
after a moment’s thought, “in order to ensure the 
success of my scheme I have arranged for those 
two gentlemen to be out of London on this bright 
Sabbath day. I can’t tell you any more, Mike.” 

“You are like a serial story, you finish off at the 
most interesting place,” he grumbled. 


192 


KATE PLUS 10 


His keen grey eyes searched hers and she met 
them fairly. 

“I wish you weren’t/’ he said. 

“Weren’t what*?” she asked. 

“In this business,” he nodded. “I wish you 
weren’t.” 

“Perhaps I will be good one of these days,” she 
said, “and then you can recommend me for a job 
at two-ten-per. I’d make an ideal secretary for 
you, Mike. I know all the underworld by name. 
You could cut out your finger print department 
and leave it to Kate. What would happen, do 
you think,” she went on, “if I went to a Salvation 
Army officer and said, T have been very wicked 
but now I am going to be good. Will you please 
assist me. I have no money but I’ve a good 
heart — ’ Mike, he would put me to chopping 
wood for a week and then he would find me a 
place as under-secretary to a housemaid in a 
strictly religious family which gave me two eve- 
nings and one Sunday a month. You see, Mike, 
even at goodliness one has to start at the bottom 
of the ladder; you can’t break in on the roof. 
I hate good people.” 


LADY MOYA UNLIKE HERSELF 193 


Michael nodded. 

“I hate good people, too,” he said, “if they ad- 
vertise their goodness, but goodness is not hard- 
ness or sourness, it is just — goodness. For ex- 
ample,” he went on, “I am good.” 

“And I am wicked,” she said and appealed with 
outstretched hands to a startled duck who had 
waddled to the railings, “choose between us !” 

He laughed but was instantly serious again. 

“Your confession puts me in a dilemma. As 
you are a lady I cannot believe you are lying, as 
you are a criminal I dare not take your word. I 
am sufficiently acquainted with your methods to 
know that your presence is not essential to the com- 
mittal of a crime, so I can gain nothing by pull- 
ing you in.” 

“Poor Mike,” she said mockingly. 

“Poor Kate,” he said and the girl detected the 
note of sincerity in his voice. 

“Kate, you can’t get away with it,” he said; 
“you have got to fall sooner or later. Think what 
it means. Think of that horrible drab life in 
Aylesbury, where every minute is an hour and 


m 


KATE PLUS 10 


every hour an eternity; think of the menial things 
they will set you to do, scrubbing floors, washing 
shirts and sewing sacks. Think, how you will be 
marshalled to church every Sunday and think how 
you will be stared at and jeered at by friends of 
the Home Secretary who come to visit the jail.” 

“When that happens I shall be dead,” she said. 
“I believe you mean kindly, Michael Pretherston, 
and I will tell you this, that you nor any other 
human being can make me think or feel any differ- 
ent to what I think and feel. There is no power 
on earth that can tear out the foundations on 
which my life is built. I have read everything, 
all the philosophies, Christian and pagan, and all 
the arguments from the feeble evangelism of the 
tract writer, to the blatant nonsense of the pro- 
fessional atheist, and I am just where I began. 
You can’t touch me by reason or by devotion, by 
faith or by prayers. I am all stone — here,” she 
laid her white hand upon her bosom and he saw 
the mocking laughter in her eyes. “Poor 
Michael!” she said. “Why, if devotion could 
change me, think of the chances I have had! I 


LADY MOYA UNLIKE HERSELF 195 


could have taken Ralph Sapson and made of him 
a snake ring for my little finger. I nearly had 
Flanborough on the point of proposing to me. 
He is rather sentimental, did you know that 4 ?” 

“All people with indigestion are sentimental 
between paroxysms,” said Michael sagely. 

He gave his hand to the girl though it was un- 
necessary and helped her to her feet and they 
walked out of the park together. Her little Mer- 
cedes was unattended and he cranked it up for her. 

“Good-bye, Michael,” she said. 

“Au revoir,” said Michael, “we shall meet at 
the sessions.” 

At two o’clock that afternoon a constable on 
duty in Moorgate Street heard the first of the two 
explosions which agitated police circles that day. 
Michael was on the spot half-an-hour later and 
his brief examination led to the view which he 
afterwards communicated to Ralph. It was then 
he discovered that what the girl had told him was 
true and that both Lord Flanborough and Sir 
Ralph Sapson were out of town. Curiously 


196 


KATE PLUS 10 


enough, though he had been impressed at the time, 
he had dismissed the girl’s statement as a piece of 
bravado on a par with the badinage in which she 
usually indulged. He had cursed his folly in 
ignoring the warning, all the way from Baker 
Street to the city and it was a great relief to dis- 
cover what was evident, that no attempt had been 
made to rifle either the safe in Bartholomew Close 
or the strong room in Moorgate Street. The out- 
rages were similar in character; in both cases the 
steel doors had been burst open by the application 
of an infernal machine. In neither case had the 
thieves benefited by their crime. The constable 
who heard the first explosion said he had been 
admitted by the caretaker of the building within 
three minutes but in that time had managed to 
send another policeman, who came up, to guard 
the back of the premises. Nobody had either en- 
tered or left in that period. 

The explosion in Bartholomew Close had blown 
a sky-light into the street. The safe was in a 
concrete cellar in which a light had been burning 
day and night and although this had been extin- 


LADY MOYA UNLIKE HERSELF 197 


guished by the force of the explosion, it was pos- 
sible for the constable who was outside to see the 
safe and obtain a fairly comprehensive view of 
the chamber. He, too, had asserted that nobody 
had entered the room or left the building after 
the explosion. 

“It is very curious,” said Michael. 

T. B. Smith had come at his urgent request and 
the chief was as puzzled as his subordinate. 

“Did Flanborough say he would come up?” 

“He is on his way now,” replied Michael. 

“Do you know what I think?” said T. B. after 
a moment’s thought. “I think that this is a blind. 
That there was never any intention of rifling 
either the strong room or the safe. There is a 
big move on somewhere, Mike, call in all the re- 
serves.” 

This was an order which Michael heard with 
pleasure, for he had already anticipated these in- 
structions, and detectives were at that moment 
flocking to Scotland Yard from every point of the 
compass. 


CHAPTER XII 


A MOTOR CAR WAS MET BY A SPECIAL 
TRAIN 

Whatever distress animated the bosoms of 
humanity on that fateful Sunday afternoon and 
evening there were two people riotously and su- 
premely happy, though the car which Alphonso 
Blaxton drove was an old one and badly sprung 
and though every hill it met reduced the two 
young adventurers to breathless apprehension for 
the car had a trick of stopping with its goal in 
sight and refusing to budge any farther. 

They were happy though no word of love had 
been spoken between them from the moment she 
had drawn from his arms. And their happiness 
was such that even a faulty cylinder and a choked 
carburettor were matters of little moment. 

They had eaten a very bad luncheon in Maid- 
stone without noticing the fact. They had en- 
countered perils innumerable (the steering gear 
198 


A MOTOR CAR 


199 


had gone wrong and temporary repairs had to be 
effected without the aid of a tool chest) and were 
yet cheerful. They had been bumped and shaken 
and jarred but they had had compensation. They 
had seen the uprising ridges of the Kentish Rag 
green and white and starred with flowers. They 
had looked through a golden haze across mysteri- 
ous valleys. They had heard the songs of birds 
and had tasted the joys which come only to those 
who love youth and young things. 

If the clouds were banking up in the west and 
an occasional puff of cold wind came to remind 
them of May’s treachery they, for their part, saw 
no cloud in their sky, felt no chill winds in their 
rosy world. 

They reached the top of a particularly trying 
hill and Alphonso stopped the car and got down. 
Before them the road dipped straightly down to 
a level crossing. A mile beyond the railway there 
was a little hill which promised no distress of 
mind. 

“Wouldn’t this be a lovely place to paint !” said 
the girl. 


200 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Don’t let’s talk about art,” he begged with 
a wry face, “let us talk of beautiful things — such 
as tea and shrimps.” 

She shrieked with merriment at his feeble jest. 

“I wonder what is going to happen,” said the 
girl becoming grave. 

“Happen, how, where?” he asked in surprise. 

“About us,” she said. 

He took her two hands in his. 

“I am going to be tremendously rich.” 

“Did I tell you I was engaged?” she asked 
timidly after a long silence. 

It was nothing less than an act of heroism for 
her to ask this question. 

“I have a dim idea you said something about it 
a long time ago,” he said. 

“Did I really?” she asked relieved. “I had 
a feeling — ■” 

“If you didn’t tell me I saw your ring,” he said 
and she went red because she had removed that 
ring after their second meeting and had never 
worn it again. 

“I think I have told you that I had £300 a 


A MOTOR CAR 


£01 

year,” he went on; “now that we are confessing 
our handicaps I might as well own up to 
mine.” 

“You told me you were absolutely penniless,” 
she said severely. “£300 a year is a fortune.” 

“£300 a year is only a fortune to the immensely 
rich, to the poor it is worse than poverty.” 

“You can do a lot with £300 a year,” she said 
thoughtfully, “and what shall I do with my 
money*? I can’t throw it away.” 

“You will do nothing with it,” he said firmly; 
“when my £300 a year has become £10,000 a year 
we can do things.” 

She laughed happily, twisting his watch guard 
round her finger. 

“I cannot understand myself,” she said. “I 
have been such a selfish mercenary pig. I didn’t 
know there was any happiness in the world.” 

For the second time that day he slipped his arm 
around Jier, raised her face to his and kissed her. 

“Tea,” he said practically, started the engine 
and climbed into the driver’s seat, stretching out 
his hand to assist her to his side. 


KATE PLUS 10 


The car started with a jerk but ran smoothly 
down the hill. 

“It is rather lucky that gate is open,” he said as 
the machine gathered speed. “It would be rather 
comic if we couldn’t stop the car.” 

A piercing shriek of an engine brought his head 
round. 

“That must be another line,” he said uneasily 
and put his hand on the brake; “anyway, the gate 
is open,” he said relieved. 

Again came the frenzied scream of the engine 
and he heard the thunder of its wheels. He was 
fifty yards from the crossing when he saw the gates 
begin to move. He pressed on the foot brake 
without producing any diminution of speed, 
gripped the hand brake, pulled it back until he felt 
the snap of the rotten hand as it broke. There 
was nothing for it but to take a risk. He pushed 
over the accelerator and the car leaped for- 
ward. ... 

Car and gate and tram seemed to reach the spot 
simultaneously. 

The girl found herself flung headlong into a 


A MOTOR CAR 


203 


ditch, fortunately landing in the soft mud at the 
bottom. Alphonso’s fall was broken by the quick- 
set hedge which ripped his clothes to ribbons and 
scarred his face and hands. He picked himself 
up and went in search of the girl and found her 
as she was climbing unsteadily on to the perma- 
nent way. 

The train had pulled up with a jerk amidst a 
chaos of smashed gate and mangled motor-car. 
Fortunately, it was slowing at the closed gate at 
the time the collision occurred, otherwise these two 
young people presenting a fantastic appearance 
might have ended their promising careers. 

“Are you hurt 4 ?” were the first words she 
asked. 

His face was scratched and his clothes were torn 
but though he had by far the worse experience his 
was not the woe-begone appearance which the girl 
presented. She was caked with mud, a dab of mud 
was on her cheek, her hat was gone and her long 
brown hair was flying in all directions. 

The passengers of the “special” were perhaps 
more perturbed than its victims. 


204 


KATE PLUS 10 


“It is an accident. We have run into a motor- 
car,” reported the conductor. 

“Is anybody killed?” asked Sir Ralph in alarm. 

“No, sir, a young man and a young woman who 
are more frightened than hurt.” 

“Let us go and look at them,” said Lord Flan- 
borough and stepped down to the permanent 
way. 

It is a truism that there is no such thing as a 
paternal instinct and he would have indeed been 
a wise father who recognized his child in such 
disarray. 

He was speechless for a moment. 

“Moya,” he gasped hollowly. “Moya ! Great 
Heavens! What were you doing here?” 

He stared round at the scarecrow by her side 
and at sight of the young man, Sir Ralph, who 
had been struck dumb by the apparition, found 
his voice. 

“I see, I see,” he said bitterly. 

“You have the advantage of me,” said the 
young man, “for I have got a little piece of Hamp- 
shire in my eye.” 


A MOTOR CAR 


205 


The girl swung round to him fumbling for her 
handkerchief. 

“It is nothing, dear,” said the young man, bliss- 
fully unconscious of the identity of the well-fed 
gentleman who was regarding him so sternly. 

“But, darling, you might be blinded,” pleaded 
the girl ; “please let me.” 

“Moya,” said Lord Flanborough in a pained 
tone, “may I ask what is the meaning of this 4 ?” 

“Oh, I want you to meet Mr. Blaxton,” said 
the girl going red and white. “Fonso, this is 
papa.” 

“I should be glad to see you,” said Fonso, 
groping wildly on the blind side of him. 

“ ‘Fonso’ ?” repeated the enraged Flanborough, 
“and who, may I ask, is Fonso?” 

She fastened back her unruly hair and rubbed 
her mud-stained cheek with her handkerchief be- 
fore she replied. 

“I suppose it will come as a shock to you and 
a greater shock to Sir Ralph, but Fonso and I are 
going to be married,” she said. 

Alphonso Blaxton blinked at her. 


206 


KATE PLUS 10 


“I haven’t asked you yet,” he said. 

“That doesn’t matter,” she replied calmly, “you 
do want me, don’t you?” And before her hor- 
rified father and her promised husband, Alphonso 
took her in his arms and hugged her. 

It was an awkward journey back to town. Sir 
Ralph sat by himself and rejected all Lord Flan- 
borough’s attempts to discuss the matter. He was 
hurt in his pride and, if the truth be told, hurt in 
his pocket because an alliance with the family 
meant a considerable addition to his fortune. 

It is a mistake to believe that rich people do not 
care for money or that a man with two millions 
is wholly indifferent as to whether he has two or 
three. Indeed, the reverse is the case. The man 
who thinks in thousands is indifferent to a figure 
or two, the man who counts his fortune in shill- 
ings seldom knows the number of shillings he has. 
Only your two-millionaire realizes the full value 
of money. The thrift of the millionaire might 
well serve as an example to the improvident 
poor. 

“I shall speak to Moya when we get home,” 


A MOTOR CAR 


207 


said Lord Flanborough. “I have never been so 
distressed at anything so much in my life. It is 
disgraceful, Ralph.” 

But Ralph did not encourage sympathy. 

As a matter of fact, his lordship spoke to the girl 
before the special ran into London Street Station. 
It required some courage on his part, for it meant 
intruding upon the couple in the little stateroom 
which ordinarily served as a sleeping apartment 
when Sir Ralph’s private coach carried him on 
night journeys. 

He found them a picture of decorum sitting 
rigidly bolt upright, one on either side of the car- 
riage, looking out of the window with fine uncon- 
cern; but this attitude was probably due to the 
fact that the door of the compartment made a very 
loud rattling noise when the handle was turned. 

“I want to speak to you alone, Moya.” 

“Run away, Fonso,” said the girl with a gaiety 
out of harmony with her rigidity of attitude. 

Alphonso stepped out of the saloon and closed 
the sliding door behind him. 

“Now, Moya,” said his lordship with a badly 


208 


KATE PLUS 10 


simulated air of friendliness, “perhaps you will 
explain 4 ?” 

“Why I am going to marry Fonso 4 ?” she asked, 
“because I love him. Why do you think that I 
should be marrying him 4 ?” 

4 ‘This sounds very much like Michael. It is 
the way he would talk,” said Lord Flanborough 
bitterly. “This shows the danger of letting your 
children associate with irregular people. You 
know very well that you are engaged to Sir 
Ralph.” 

“I know he gave me a ring and we agreed to get 
married,” She said, “but I have changed my mind.” 

“But you can't change your mind,” stormed her 
father; “it is impossible that my daughter should 
marry a wretched artist.” 

“He’s not wretched and he is not an artist,” 
said the girl; “we have both agreed that he is not 
an artist and he is going to find something useful 
to do.” 

“If you marry this man,” he pointed a trembling 
finger at her, “I will not receive you as my 
daughter.” 


A MOTOR CAR 


209 


“I don’t want to be received at all. You 
married whom you wanted to marry, didn’t 
you 4 ?” 

“I married,” said Lord Flanborough virtuously, 
“in accordance with the wishes of my parents.” 

“Do you mean to say,” said the girl incredu- 
lously, “that you had no voice in it? I cannot 
imagine it. My dear daddy, it is preposterous 
to suggest that a person of your strong character 
accepted the wife that somebody else found for 
him !” 

“Well, I admit,” said her father somewhat mol- 
lified, “that I had a say in the matter but I had the 
sense to choose the right person.” 

“That is just what I am doing,” she cried in 
triumph, “choosing the right person ! And Daddy, 
if you are rude to Fonso, I shall be very rude to 
Ralph.” 

“The man of course is a fortune hunter,” said 
Lord Flanborough savagely. “He knows that 
you have money in your own right and that I can- 
not save you from the consequences of your folly.” 

“What is Ralph?” she asked tartly. 


210 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Sir Ralph is a very rich man,” said her father 
with emphasis. 

“What does he get with me?” she asked again. 

This was the question which Lord Flanborough 
did not find it convenient to answer. He knew 
that marriage with his daughter would bring to 
Sir Ralph a much greater fortune than she 
possessed in her own right. 

“Go and ask your disinterested friend if he will 
take me without a dot , and if I were to give my 
own income to found a hospital for women.” 

“I am sure Sir Ralph would answer in the 
affirmative,” replied Lord Flanborough. 

“Ask him,” she challenged. 

He passed out of the compartment scowling at 
the offending Fonso and made his way to Sir 
Ralph. He had not intended putting the ques- 
tion, but some chance remark of the baronet’s just 
before the train reached London gave him an 
opportunity of introducing the subject. 

“Would you care to marry Moya without the 
settlement we agreed, Ralph 4 ?” 

“What on earth do you mean?” asked Sir 


A MOTOR CAR 


211 


Ralph, astonished out of his sulks. Money was a 
subject which invariably aroused him from the 
deepest lethargy. 

‘T mean,” said his future father-in-law, “sup- 
pose I say ‘You love Moya and all that sort of 
thing. You are a very rich man, you can afford 
to keep her, take her without a settlement/ what 
would you answer?” 

“Certainly not !” said Sir Ralph furiously, “cer- 
tainly not! I don’t understand this business at 
all, Flanborough, I really don’t understand it. 
We made an arrangement and now, it seems, you 
want to back out of it. What is the objection to 
the settlement?” 

“I have no objection at all,” admitted Lord 
Flanborough uncomfortably, “but Moya thinks 
that money is a big factor in your choice of her.” 

“Of course it is,” said Sir Ralph with brutal 
directness. “I was very fond of Moya, but the 
settlement was a big consideration.” 

“I see,” said Lord Flanborough incoherently, 
“Moya’s idea of course. . . .” 

Michael met them at the station and noticed 


212 


KATE PLUS 10 


the constraint of the party. He understood the 
reason when a bedraggled Moya and a young man, 
whose face was criss-crossed with scratches and 
whose clothes were in threads, made their appear- 
ance. There was no explanation possible and 
Michael wisely asked for none. He handed over 
Lord Flanborough and his friend to the care of 
the city detective officer in charge of the case and 
when they had gone he turned to Moya. 

“Have you two people been fighting*?” he asked. 

“Father’s horribly angry with me,” she said, 
“because I am going to marry Fonso.” 

He stared at her in amazement. 

“Do you mean to tell me that you are not going 
to marry Ralph?” 

“I am not,” she said resolutely. 

“And this is Fonso?” 

The girl nodded. 

Michael threw back his head and filled the 
station with laughter. 

“You don’t know Fonso, do you?” she said. 
“He’s horribly poor. Aren’t you, dear?” 


A MOTOR CAR 


213 

“Horribly,” admitted the young man but did 
not seem unhappy. 

“And you are going to marry him 4 ?” said 
Michael. 

“Of course I am going to marry him,” said the 
girl wrathfully. “I didn’t expect that you would 
disapprove.” 

“Disapprove 4 ?” he chuckled and catching her up 
in his strong arms he kissed her. 

“We will all go along and have some grub,” he 
said; “dash home and make yourself respectable, 
Moya. I see your father has left his car for you. 
Meet me at Sebo’s in an hour’s time.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE CHRONOLOGY OF A GREAT THEFT 

It is necessary to tell the story of what was un- 
doubtedly one of the strangest and most audacious 
crimes recorded in the annals of crime with greater 
detail and at greater length than is ordinarily 
necessary. Le Flavier of the French police, who 
is surely the greatest living authority on the subject 
of modern crime, has likened Kate Westhanger’s 
masterpiece (he does not refer to her, by the way) 
to the first of the Napoleonic campaigns against 
Italy and has published an elaborate treatise show- 
ing the points of resemblance which are not so far 
fetched as some of the critics, in their hasty re- 
view of this work, are justified in saying. 

Kirschner, a little quoted authority, but never- 
theless a brilliant and talented philocriminologist, 
has said that it would be humanly possible to re- 
duplicate such a crime and that at any rate it 
m 


A GREAT THEFT 


215 


would be wholly impossible to excel the ingenuity 
which planned the strategics of the issue. 

At 8.30 on the night of May 14th the Charter 
Queen , eight thousand tons, commander T. Brown, 
came to her moorings in E-basin, No. 3 Quay of 
the Seahampton Docks. She carried a hundred- 
and-twenty third class passengers, seventy-four 
second class and fifty-nine first class passengers, a 
general cargo and in her strong-room forty-four 
thousand, eight hundred pounds of bar gold. 
They were made up of four-hundred and forty- 
eight hundred-pound ingots, bearing the stamp 
of the Central Rand Gold Extraction Company. 

The passengers were landed and despatched by 
special trains to London, preceded by another train 
carrying the mails. The mail train left at 9.27, 
the passenger at 9.42. By 10.17 the gold ingots 
had been landed, checked and conveyed to a wait- 
ing train where they were checked again under the 
superintendence of Inspector K. Morris of the 
Dock police. At 10.22 the engine backed into the 
train and was coupled up and the superintendent 
of the line being unavoidably absent (he was dis- 


216 


KATE PLUS 10 


covered locked in an empty house the next morn- 
ing), the driver received his “right away” from 
Assistant-Inspector Thomas Massey, who had ar- 
rived that day from London and who spoke to the 
driver and fireman before the train pulled out. 

“You know this road, I suppose?” he said. 

“Yes, sir,” replied the driver. “I have been 
down here several times.” 

The inspector was not wholly satisfied. In the 
first place, he resented seeing “foreign drivers” on 
his road, but the two men had arrived from Lon- 
don bearing a letter from Sir Ralph to the super- 
intendent of the road, a letter which afterwards 
proved to be a forgery. The letter instructed the 
superintendent to give the men charge of the 
engine, offering, as a reason, their reliability and 
the fact that they were two of the best drivers at 
the North Central, which railway was under the 
control of Sir Ralph Sapson. 

The train pulled out and from this onward its 
adventures began. 

From the moment it left Seahampton Town 
station, the train was never out of sight for longer 


A GREAT THEFT 


217 


than ten minutes. Every signal box along the 
line had received special instructions to particu- 
larly note its passing and in addition to the con- 
ventional record which is kept of every train, to 
notify specially not only to the next box, but to 
London the hour of its dispatch. The road may 
be briefly described. 

From Seahampton it ran straight to the market 
town of Sevilley and then over the S-shape road 
across to Tolbridge. It may be remarked in pass- 
ing that between Sevilley and the Tolbridge was 
the level crossing at which Moya had met with 
her accident. Between Tolbridge and Pinham 
the road pushed straight through uneven ground 
passing successively under Tolbridge Hill, Beck- 
ham Beacon and Pinham Heights, under each of 
which it passed through tunnels, the tunnels be- 
ing connected nearly all the way by deep cut- 
tings. 

It was a rainy night for the drizzle, which set 
in at six in the evening, had continued until there 
was a veritable deluge. Sevilley (East) signal- 
box reported the gold train as having passed at 


218 


KATE PLUS 10 


11.7, and this fact was supported by the times 
given by six signalmen between Tolbridge and 
Sevilley. The train slowed at Tolbridge and 
entered Tolbridge tunnel. Between Beckham 
tunnel and Tolbridge tunnel is a signalbox which 
reported the Special at 1 1.32. The signalbox was 
situated close to the line and rather near the 
ground and the signalman states that he not only 
saw the train pass him in the pelting rain, but 
that he saw the tail lights disappear into Beckham 
tunnel which is built on a curve. 

The times are interesting. At 11.32 the train 
entered Beckham tunnel. At 11.42 the signal- 
man on the northern side of Pinham tunnel re- 
ported the train as having passed. It was raining 
but owing to the unusual character of this new 
service and his natural curiosity to see a £3,000,- 
000 “special” he had his window open and saw 
the three green lights flash past and the red tail 
lights disappearing in the distance. Between 
Beckham signalbox and Pinham signalbox the dis- 
tance is five miles, but the theory is that at this 
point the train slowed to thirty miles an hour, 


A GREAT THEFT 


219 


which accounted for the unusual length of time 
it took to traverse this short distance. 

At Maidmore, Stanborn, Quexley Paddocks and 
Catford Bridge, on the outskirts of London, the 
train was reported and timed. The next station 
to Catford Bridge is Balham Hill and the signal- 
man at Balham Hill stated at the subsequent en- 
quiry that he was given and accepted the gold 
special at 1 1 .53 and lowered the “distant off” and 
the “home” signals, at the same time warning the 
next northern station, which was Kennington 
Junction that he had accepted the “.46 up” which 
was the official designation of the special. 

He waited for ten minutes and saw no sign of 
the train, whereupon he called Quexley Paddocks 
and asked if there had not been a mistake since 
the run was not more than seven minutes. 
Quexley Paddocks replied that the train had 
passed through, going at fifty miles an hour at the 
moment she had been signalled. 

No further news was received and the Catford 
Bridge signalman, becoming alarmed, reported to 
the station-master on duty, who sent two plate- 


220 


KATE PLUS 10 


layers along the line. They walked as far as 
Quexley Paddocks but saw no sign of a train. 
The gold special had disappeared as though the 
earth had opened and received it. 

All these times had been verified. Every signal- 
man and station-master was interrogated without 
in any way shaking the veracity of the witnesses. 
When the plate-layers reached Quexley Paddocks 
and reported the disappearance of the train, Lon- 
don was informed. Between Quexley Paddocks 
and Catford Bridge the line runs through market 
gardens and what is very unusual so close to Lon- 
don, it passes over a level crossing, the gates of 
which are electrically controlled from Quexley 
Paddocks signalbox. 

And here is the most remarkable of the state- 
ments that were made. The signalman, Henry 
George Wallis, states that after the gold special 
had passed and he had brought his signals back 
to danger, he had noticed a strange disturbance 
on the dial of the electrical apparatus by which 
the gates were opened or closed and it was dis- 
covered the next morning when he endeavoured to 


A GREAT THEFT 


221 


open the gates to allow an army traction engine 
to pass that the gates refused to work. That 
happening, however, was very thoroughly investi- 
gated on the following day. 

Michael had dined and supped with Moya and 
Fonso Blaxton and they had had a riotous and 
wholly joyous evening. He had returned to his 
flat at half past eleven, calling en route at the 
Yard, for he was still very uneasy about Kate’s 
threat and he was anxious also to find out if there 
had been any discovery made in connection with 
the outrage of the morning. The case .was not in 
his hands since the crime had been committed 
within the jurisdiction of the city police and the 
city Criminal Investigation Department had con- 
trol of the investigations. 

T. B. was at the office and had no news to give. 
Michael went home and to bed. He was aroused 
at half past twelve by telephone. It was the voice 
of T. B. Smith. 

“They’ve done it, Mike. Come down at once.” 

“What have they done?” asked Michael with 
a sinking heart. 


222 KATE PLUS 10 

“They’ve pinched the blooming train !” said T. 
B. vulgarly. 

A special train had been made up for the police 
and Michael was on the platform of Catford 
Bridge station by half past one, and was reading 
the reports which had been transmitted by the 
various signalmen. To add to the mystery, a min- 
eral train from Seahampton which had followed 
the gold special at half an hour’s interval, but at 
a slower pace, had come straight through without 
noticing anything unusual. It had crossed the 
down empty at Tolbridge and that was the only 
other train that was met until it reached the 
suburbs of London where the night traffic was 
more general. Sir Ralph was one of the party 
that went down to Catford Bridge and a very dis- 
tressed and worried man he was. 

“I asked that fellow Flanborough to come,” he 
wailed, “and what do you think the selfish beast 
said*? He said it was my responsibility. Can 
you imagine anything more brutal?” 

“Is the gold insured?” 

Sir Ralph shook his head. 


A GREAT THEFT 


“Not wholly. It was fully insured as far as 
Seahampton,” he said grimly. “After that the re- 
sponsibility is partly mine and partly Flan- 
borough’s and partly the underwriters’. Isn’t it 
too awful for words*?” 

T. B. came into the waiting room at that mo- 
ment, clad in oilskins and sou’wester. 

“You had better take complete charge of this 
case, Mike,” he said. “Sir Ralph will give you 
any assistance, I’m sure.” 

“Can I have a break-down train?” 

“I can bring one down here in twenty minutes,” 
said Sir Ralph. 

“Is it equipped with searchlights?” 

Sir Ralph consulted an official. 

“We’ve naphtha flares. Will they do?” 

“They will do,” said Michael ; “put a truck in 
front of the engine and arrange the flares so that 
they light up the line.” 

He spent the night in an open truck, slowly 
passing down the line searching for some clue 
which would afford a solution to the mystery. 
Particularly thorough was his search of the three 


224 * 


KATE PLUS 10 


tunnels, but they yielded nothing, and he reached 
Seahampton as the dawn was breaking without 
having made any discovery which would help 
him. 

He went back to town by the break-down train, 
sleeping in the guard’s caboose, and reached 
Quexley in time to receive from the retiring sig- 
nalman the story of his eccentric gates. 

Michael was interested and with the man for a 
guide he followed the course of the controlling 
wire which passed through a length of iron piping 
from the signal box to the gate. 

“The electrician tells me that the wire has been 
cut somewhere,” said the man. “He has tried 
his instrument on it.” 

“The wire cannot be cut if it is inside the iron 
casing,” said Michael. 

“It is either cut or fused,” said the man. 

The detective walked very slowly, pausing now 
and again to examine the black painted pipe. 
Presently he stopped. He had detected some- 
thing and stooped to examine the pipe more 
closely. It was clear that it had been freshly 


A GREAT THEFT 


225 


painted. He passed his hand round it slowly and 
suddenly he felt an unexpected softness. 

‘This isn’t iron,” he said. 

He took out his pocket-knife and scraped. A 
little hole had been burnt into the steel by a port- 
able blow-pipe and the wires inside had been fused 
together by the heat. 

“That explains it,” said Michael. “What 
effect would this have on the gates?” he asked. 

“Well, you couldn’t open them from the box,” 
said the man 

“Could you open them by hand?” 

“Yes, sir. We’ve got a chap on duty now who 
does nothing but open and shut them,” said the 
man. “While the current is on, they are locked. 
They work like ordinary gates, except you have 
to be very careful when you lock them.” 

Michael waited until a train had passed and 
then experimented. 

The gates opened and closed easily enough. 

“What do you mean when you tell me that you 
have to be careful with the catch?” 

“Well, ordinarily, when you use it without the 


226 


KATE PLUS 10 


current,” said the man, “the catch falls and cannot 
be lifted except by electric control.” 

Michael made an inspection of the “catch.” It 
was a steel block working on a pivot and obviously 
operated magnetically. 

“It doesn’t go up or down, now,” said Michael 
after testing it. 

“It looks to me,” said the man, “as though it 
has been forced up.” 

There was no doubt that what he said was true 
for the detective saw the unmistakable mark of a 
jemmy on the wooden casing about the lock. 

But why on earth did they want to open the 
gate? If the train had been rifled on this stretch 
of line the need for an open gate would have been 
easy to explain. The train would have been 
stopped here and, supposing they could force the 
locks of the safe, the thieves could have loaded 
their gold and got away — but no train had been 
found. 

Michael passed through the turnstile and ex- 
amined the road for something to guide him to a 
solution. 


A GREAT THEFT 


m 

It had been raining throughout the night and 
more than one traction engine had passed, as was 
evident from the wheel marks. He explored the 
road for a hundred yards and found nothing. 
Then he tried the other gate and found that there 
the catch had also been forced. The first twenty 
yards of the road was soft and the wheel tracks 
were indistinguishable. At the end of this patch, 
however, the going was harder, the crown of the 
road had drained off the rain and even the traction 
engine had left no great impression. 

Michael walked a pace or two, then stopped 
and whistled, and well might he whistle, for there 
plain to be seen and not to be confused with any 
other track was the deep and narrow furrow and 
the broad impression which could have only been 
made by railway wheels! 

He followed the track for another hundred 
yards where it struck the main road and a tram 
line and from there every trace disappeared. 

Very weary and dishevelled he presented him- 
self to T. B. Smith and made his report. 

“You don't seriously suggest that they took a 


KATE PLUS 10 


railway train off the line and put it on the road, 
do you?” asked T. B. in wonder. “It’s impossi- 
ble!” 

“Of course it’s impossible,” said Michael irri- 
tably; “the whole thing is impossible. You can’t 
steal a railway train — but they’ve done it!” 

He found with the assistant commissioner Sir 
Ralph whose agitation was pathetic. 

“It’s pretty rough on me, old man,” said the 
baronet with that friendliness which the superior 
person invariably adopts in a moment of his mis- 
fortune. “I have lost a wife and a railway train 
in twenty-four hours. What the dickens are you 
laughing at?” 

“Nothing,” said Michael recovering his gravity. 
“It was almost worth everything to see your face !” 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE REMARKABLE TRAIN THAT DID 
STRANGE TRICKS 

By six o’clock that evening Michael Pretherston 
was back again at his work, passing down from 
station to station on a pilot engine, questioning 
and cross-examining the officials concerned. T. 
B. Smith picked him up at Maidmore going down 
by the ordinary train. 

“Have you found anything 4 ?” 

“I have a theory,” said Michael. “I’d like you 
to listen to what the station-master here has to 
say.” 

“Have you questioned him?” 

“Not yet,” said Michael, “ but I have an idea 
he will say exactly what the man at Stanborn 
said.” 

The inspector who had been on night duty at 
the time the train passed proved to be a very 
intelligent and observant man. He told the same 
229 


230 


KATE PLUS 10 


story, that the rain was falling very heavily and 
that he had seen the distant lights of the gold 
special which had flown through the dark station 
at incredible pace. 

“Is it not a fact,” said Michael, “that it passed 
you before you realized it was gone?” 

The man was surprised. 

“That is so, sir. It seemed as though I had 
hardly seen the headlights come into the station 
before I saw the tail-lights going out.” 

“Did it whistle as it passed through?” 

“Yes, sir,” said the man, “a deafening whistle. 
I remarked to my porter at the time that it must 
be trying a new kind of siren. It made the most 
fiendish row and you could hear nothing else.” 

“It whistled through all the stations where 
there was somebody on duty,” said Michael turn- 
ing to T. B. Smith. “It is a curious fact that at 
Stanborn Halt and Merchley which are closed for 
the night they made no noise at all. Was the 
station in darkness?” he said, turning to the in- 
spector. 

“Practically so, sir,” said the man; “there was 


THE REMARKABLE TRAIN 


231 


one light on the down platform where I was stand- 
ing, but it was a very dark night and it was im- 
possible to distinguish anything on the other plat- 
form. All that we saw was the flash of lights 
and the train had passed before one had realized 
that it had gone.” 

The inspector at Pinham Heights station had 
a similar story to tell. 

But the Tolbridge junction signalman and the 
Tolbridge assistant station-master did not report 
any whistle or any unusual happening. 

T. B. and Michael spent the night at Tolbridge 
and resumed their journey at daybreak. It was 
a slow and laborious business. Once between 
Pinham and Beckham Beacon, Michael had 
stopped the train and switched it on to a side- 
track. 

“Why is there a sidetrack here*?” he asked. 

The railway official who accompanied him and 
who by this time was very weary of the whole 
business, explained vaguely that it was partly to 
provide a very necessary relief for any congestion 
on this section, and partly to connect up a “chalk 


232 


KATE PLUS 10 


pit or something” which now, however, was no 
longer used. 

Michael walked along the rusted rails for a 
quarter of a mile. They led toward a low line 
of hills about three miles away. Rank vegeta- 
tion grew between the sleepers, for it had been 
many years since its private owners had taken the 
trouble to put this little branch line in working 
order. 

The road ended abruptly with a big buffer 
made of sleepers and behind this the rail drooped 
limply over a great hole as though there had been 
a subsidence of the earth. 

Michael turned back and joined T. B. 

“It could not have passed over here. The rail 
is rusty and runs into a large-sized hole at the 
other end,” said Michael in despair. “Well, go 
on, driver.” 

It was a day of enquiries which led nowhere 
and Michael returned that night to town, weary 
and sick at heart. Nevertheless, he had the dim 
beginnings of a theory which, however, he re- 
fused to communicate to his chief. 


THE REMARKABLE TRAIN 


233 


“It is rather fantastic,” he excused himself, 
“but then, the whole thing is fantastic. It is ob- 
viously impossible to steal a railway train and 
carry it through the streets of London without 
somebody being attracted by the novelty of the 
spectacle.” 

“Will you see Sir Ralph?” asked T. B. 
“He has been waiting here for an hour to meet 
you.” 

“Hasn’t he got a home?” asked Michael irrita- 
bly. 

He saw the distracted baronet but could offer 
him little hope. 

“It is impossible they can get away with it,” 
said Sir Ralph; “my expert tells me that it will 
take them two days to break through the steel 
walls whatever they use.” 

A thought struck Michael. 

“Have you a large scale map of your southern 
railway system?” he asked. 

“I will have it sent round to you to-night,” 
said the baronet. “What chance do you think 
there is?” he asked anxiously. 


KATE PLUS 10 


234 

“I think a very poor chance,” said Michael 
frankly; “you see, Kate doesn’t take any risk.” 

“Kate?” said the baronet. 

“You call her the ‘Princess* Bacheffski.’ Flan- 
borough calls her ‘Miss Tenby.’ As ‘Miss 
Tenby’ she secured Flanborough’s code and 
through some of her agents in the telegraph office 
learned about the shipment. As ‘Princess Bach- 
effski’ she wheedled the whole of your wonderful 
scheme for bringing gold from Seahampton and 
probably discovered the nature of the steel you 
use.” 

“Good heavens !” 

Sir Ralph sank into a chair and turned pale. 

“You don’t mean to tell me — ?” 

“That is what I mean to tell you. Didn’t you 
realize that the whole thing was a put up job? 
Why should the car of the Princess break down at 
your front door?” 

“But she was so beautifully dressed.” 

“Why shouldn’t she be beautifully dressed?” 
asked Michael mercilessly; “she probably carried 
twenty thousand pounds’ worth of diamonds. 


THE REMARKABLE TRAIN 


235 


Wasn't it worth it*? Didn’t you give her infor- 
mation which she could not have bought for the 
money?’' 

“Then you mean to say that she is a common 
swindler?” 

“She is a very ^common swindler,” said Mi- 
chael. “There’s only one thing that puzzles me,” 
he s&id, half to himself; “what did she want of 
Reggie?” 

Mr. Reginald Boltover was interrupted in the 
delicate business of dressing for dinner by a per- 
emptory demand that an officer of Scotland Yard 
should be admitted. He was relieved to dis- 
cover that it was nothing more formidable than 
Michael. 

“I have come to ask you about your friend 
Vera.” 

Mr. Boltover winced. 

“My dear fellow,” he said, “don’t mention that 
lady’s name. It is a sore subject. Don’t men- 
tion her, dear old fellow, don’t.” 

“Don’t be an ass,” said Michael good-humour- 
edly; “you must give me an idea of the questions 


236 


KATE PLUS 10 


which she asked you. What did she talk 
about ?” 

But Mr. Boltover’s mind was a blank. 

It was his boast that he did not know there was 
such a thing as yesterday. 

“Did she ask you to give her any information 
about things you are interested in*?” 

“My dear fellow,” said Reggie Boltover, shak- 
ing his head, “if she did I have forgotten it. All 
I know is that she very seriously compromised me. 
I have not been to Sebo’s since.” 

“As you are such a perfectly hopeless person,” 
said Michael, “will you give me a note to your 
secretary or your factotum or whatever human 
substitute for mentality you possess, instructing 
him to give me a full list of your properties*?” 

“With the greatest pleasure in life, with every 
happiness,” said Reggie earnestly, “with the great- 
est alacrity !” 

Armed with this, Michael called the next morn- 
ing at the office of one who was frequently re- 
ferred to by journalists as a “merchant prince,” 
and when he came out into Threadneedle Street 


THE REMARKABLE TRAIN 237 

his step was lighter and his eye was brighter than 
it had been for weeks. 

“Now, Kate,” he said between his teeth, “this 
is where you finish !” 

He could have had all the men he wanted but 
he preferred making his investigation without as- 
sistance. He went home and changed into a 
knickerbocker suit, took his oldest overcoat, a 
walking stick and a Browning pistol with two 
spare magazines. He did not ask for a special 
engine, but travelled to Pinham Heights station 
by ordinary train. He showed his authority to 
the station-master who, however, recognized 
him. 

“I don’t want anybody to know that I am down 
here,” he said, “and I must rely upon your dis- 
cretion to see that my wishes in this respect are 
carried out. Am I likely to meet any plate-layers 
or people on the line between here and Tol- 
bridge 4 ?” 

“You will meet nobody until you come to Tol- 
bridge box, but be very careful,” warned the sta- 
tion-master, “the down express goes through the 


238 


KATE PLUS 10 


tunnel in ten minutes. I should advise you not 
to leave until that has passed.” 

This advice Michael thought it expedient to 
accept and not until the rocking train had 
shrieked through the station and the receding red 
lamps were disappearing in the darkness of the 
tunnel did he walk down the sloping platform 
into the six-foot way and pass into the smoking 
tunnel. 

He could have reached his destination by the 
high road which runs from Pinham round the foot 
of the Beacon, but for reasons of his own, he 
preferred to accept the discomforts of the darker 
way and the uneven going. He passed through 
the tunnel after a seemingly interminable walk 
and came to the switch line where his engine had 
been sidetracked. He followed this until he came 
to the buffer and the deep hole beyond. 

He examined the buffer very carefully, re- 
traced his footsteps and examined the rail. It 
was, as he had seen before, red with rust. Never- 
theless, he went on his knees and examined the 
rail through a magnifying glass. Then he wetted 


THE REMARKABLE TRAIN 


239 


his finger and drew it along the red surface. He 
looked at his finger. It was red. But it was not 
the red of rust. 

He walked back, carefully examining every 
inch of the rail until he found what he sought. 
At one place by the side of the actual rail was a 
little red spot. It was no larger than a three- 
penny piece and it was, to all appearance, rust. 
But rust does not develop on a wooden sleeper 
and he found the counterpart of this spot, a trifle 
larger on the wood. Again he wetted his finger 
and was satisfied. 

For this was not rust, but a very common form 
of distemper employed by builders. 

He went back to the buffer and the sagging rail 
and climbed down the hole which was about six 
feet deep. He had noticed that a quantity of 
green stagnant water at the bottom of the hole ad- 
vertised its age. Again he drew his hand along 
the water and examined his palm. It was green, 
but his strongest magnifying glass (and he had 
one of peculiarly high power) failed to reveal any 
sign of that florescence which forms on the sur- 


240 


KATE PLUS 10 


face of water and gives it its peculiar vivid green. 
Instead, he saw a number of irregular specks, 
which were undoubtedly crystals. 

“Which means,” said Michael to himself, “that 
Kate is an artist even if Fonso isn’t.” 

The green scum which had deceived him at 
first had been artificially created. Some chemi- 
cal had been dissolved and had re-crystallised on 
the surface. He dug into the soft earth on the 
other side without securing any data as to when 
the hole had been made, but nearer the surface 
and on the rim, he saw the white tendrils of grow- 
ing coltsfoot, which were still humid. One tenta- 
cle had been shaved away, but the plant had not 
yet begun to die, nor the exposed root to blacken. 

“This hole was dug on the nigh' of the rob- 
bery,” said Michael, “and the earth was artis- 
tically removed. Kate would depend upon the 
railway officials not having bothered to inspect 
this bit of line.” 

As matter of fact, this was so. It was on pri- 
vate property, and after it left the edge of the 
railway land it ceased to be their responsibility. 


THE REMARKABLE TRAIN 211 

The buffer was also newly erected. He found 
this when he had dug down to its foundation. 
The wood was still dry and th re were blades of 
grass and tiny fragments of plant, in the earth be- 
neath. He walked round the little pit and 
reached the rails on the opposite si J ~ Thev were 
rusted as artistically as their fel Ine 

twisted and curved across level com ry a mile 
before it turned the shoulder of a hill and disap- 
peared into a gorge, evidently excavated in the 
course of the working. 

Behind this was another chalk hok, and he 
gathered from an examination of the map, that 
along this further ridge ran a road. The aban- 
doned cement works had been so built that they 
were not ip view from the railway itself. Possi- 
bly the philanthropic purchaser had pulled down 
the one remaining smokestack or- his occupation 
and the whitened buildings did not stand out 
against the chalky soil behind them. He had all 
the evidence he wanted before he had traversed 
one-half of the two miles which separated him 
from the chalk pits. 


242 


KATE PL ,Wg 10 

The mark of the heavy wheels was visible now. 
In places the weeds which grew thickly between 
the sleepers had betrii crushed by their passage. 
He now left the rail and began moving round in a 
wide semi-circle that would bring him to a low 
neck in the hill. His plan was to climb the hill 
from here and work his way back along its crest 
until he overlooked the works. He was now in 
the danger zone. 

He shifted his stick to his left hand and slipped 
out his p ; stol and pulled back the cover. It took 
him an l our to gain the crest of the neck. He 
found it vmore difficult to climb than he had 
thought. Evidently chalk had been quarried here 
and, save in one or two places, he was faced by a 
sheer unscalable wall. It was hard climbing all 
the way and he was hot and thirsty by the time 
he reached the top. 

From the neck he could only secure a partial 
view of the works. He had taken the precaution 
to bring a pair of prismatic glasses and with these 
he surveyed the ground. There was no sign of 
the train and for a moment his heart sank. Then 


THE re: 


he picked up the rail any 
and he could scarcely rest 
of joy when he saw the rai\ 
gates of which were closed. 

Originally, this may have been 
but the new tenants had relaid the 
passed into the building. He replac\ 
and continued his climb. He 
tween the neck and the point wh 
overlook the works when he heard . 1 
motor car and dropped flat. H 
yards of the road which was slight 
and looking up very cautiously he 
past and disappear over the rise. 

There was no mistaking its 
the Spaniard, Gregori. 

He rose cautiously and continued 
keeping a sharp look-out for tl sen* 
knew would be posted on the road, 
followed was a beaten track. He 
before he had gone much farter ?j 
And a way either to the left 





out success. 


10 


wuh himself the ques- 
iiould go back. It was 
nake the capture alone, 
have been detected, but if 
:he time he went back and 
e whole gang would have 
oabiy the gold with them. Of the 
ecided to take the first, 
was given to him to regret this de- 
id taken three paces when he heard 
Vie whirr of a lariat. He turned 
rger, pistol in hand, but too late. 
;;d about his neck, he felt a sharp 
jar and fell heavily to the ground. 


4 


CHAPTER XV 

AS SIR RALPH SAID, “BUSINESS IS BUSINESS” 

T. B. Smith walked into his outer office. 

“Any news of Mr. Pretherston?” he asked. 
“No, sir,” was the reply. 

“Any news of Barr?” 

“No, sir.” 

T. B. clicked his lips impatiently. 

“Who’s looking after them?” 
“Detective-sergeant Grey, sir,” was the reply. 
“You know we traced him as far as Pinham 
Heights. After that he seems to have been lost 
sight of.” 

“Have you notified the chief constables of 
Hampshire, Sussex and Surrey?” asked T. B. 

“That has been done, sir,” said the officer. 
“The local constabulary are making a search.” 

T. B. bit his lips. 

“I can understand Mr. Pretherston going,” he 

said, “but what has happened to Barr?” 

245 


246 


KATE PLUS 10 


His subordinate very wisely offered no solution. 

There were other anxious enquirers. Moya 
Felton had called that morning. Sir Ralph had 
made two visits to headquarters though it was 
doubtful whether his anxiety was in any way 
associated with the well being of Michael Pre- 
therston. 

“I think Michael will find the gang,” said T. 
B., “though he may be too late to get the gold.” 

“What do I want the gang for 4 ?” demanded 
Sir Ralph wrathfully. “Will the government 
give me £2,800,000 for them 4 ? The gang can 
go to the devil so far as I am concerned. I want 
the gold.” 

“You may get neither,” said T. B. ; “at any 
rate, it ought to be very pleasing to you, Sir Ralph, 
that Michael Pretherston is risking his life to re- 
cover your property.” 

“Isn’t he paid to do it 4 ?” demanded Sir Ralph. 
“Isn’t that the job of a policeman 4 ? By Gad! 
Commissioner, one would imagine that Prether- 
ston was doing something out of the common! 
I take risks every day of my life,” 


“BUSINESS IS BUSINESS” 247 

“If you could see my mind,” said T. B. Smith 
suavely, “you would realize that you are taking 
the biggest risk you have taken to-day. I advise 
you to go home and get into a calmer frame of 
mind.” 

“When shall I hear anything*?” asked the trucu- 
lent baronet. 

“Whenever you are within earshot,” snapped 
the Commissioner. “Show Sir Ralph out, con- 
stable.” 

Lord Flanborough did not obtrude his en- 
quiries. He was so far reconciled to Moya that 
he could discuss the matter dispassionately, with- 
out reference to the mesalliance which threatened 
his family. 

“I think on the whole, Moya,” he said, “I had 
better not see Ralph. After all, business is busi- 
ness and friends are friends; but I disclaim all 
responsibility for that gold after it left the ship. 
It is Ralph’s business entirely and I simply won’t 
accept his suggestion that I share his responsibility 
to the slightest degree.” 

“Will he have to bear the loss?” 


248 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Well, partially bear the loss. A portion will 
be borne by the underwriters. Ralph, I am 
afraid, is a very mean man. I hate saying any- 
thing about my friends but Ralph is really eco- 
nomical to a point of meanness. I advised him 
to insure the gold and, to save a beggarly pre- 
mium, he only insured half of it. I am very sorry 
for him,” he shook his head mournfully as a sym- 
bol of his sympathy. “I am very, very sorry for 
him, but I think it is better that we do not meet 
until this business matter is completely settled. 
On the whole,” he added thoughtfully, “perhaps 
it is better that your engagement with Ralph is 
broken off. He has said some very unkind things 
about you, Moya, which aroused my anger. I 
do not think you have been wise but I cannot 
allow any person to discuss you uncharitably.” 

If the truth be told, Sir Ralph had said very 
little about the girl and very much about his lord- 
ship, whom he had accused of deliberately evad- 
ing his responsibilities. This was at the one 
interview which they had had. It pleased Lord 
Flanborough to pose as a devoted father, but 


“BUSINESS IS BUSINESS” 


249 


he did not deceive anybody but himself, for Moya 
had had a first hand account of the interview 
from Ralph who had asked her to use her influ- 
ence to bring about a change in Lord Flan- 
borough’s attitude. 

It was the day after the disappearance of 
Michael Pretherston and Sir Ralph’s nerves were 
a little shaky. It was unfortunate in the circum- 
stances that he had decided that afternoon to 
make a call upon the man who, a week before, 
he had fondly believed was to be his father-in- 
law. Lord Flanborough had not taken the pre- 
caution of warning his servants that he was not 
at home to Sir Ralph, so he had nobody to blame 
but himself when the door of his study was flung 
violently open that afternoon and Ralph Sapson 
stalked in. 

“My dear Sapson,” stammered his lordship, 
flabbergasted by the unexpectedness of the visit. 
“Pray, do sit down.” 

“I am not going to sit down. I tell you I am 
not going to sit down,” roared, rather than said, 
Ralph. 


250 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Let me close the door,” said his lordship in 
alarm. “My dear man, please remember — ” 

“I remember nothing except that I am on the 
brink of ruin. That is what it means. I am on 
the brink of ruin,” said Ralph, violently thumping 
the desk. “It is going to cost me a million and 
a half, and you must bear your share, Flan- 
borough! You are responsible. If it had not 
been for your infernal daughter this would not 
have occurred.” 

“My daughter,” said Lord Flanborough and 
feeling himself on perfectly safe ground he could 
speak with hauteur, “is not a matter for discus- 
sion and if you cannot speak respectfully of her, 
I beg you to leave this room.” 

“If it had not been for your daughter we should 
have remembered to send Griggs back.” 

“I am not in charge of the railway,” said his 
lordship with mock humility. “I cannot order 
engine-drivers to return to Seahampton. Be 
reasonable, Sapson!” 

“You have got to bear your share,” said the 
other doggedly, “you are morally responsible. I 


“BUSINESS IS BUSINESS 5 


251 


wish I had never thought of bringing your in- 
fernal ships to Seahampton.” 

He was haggard and drawn of face. In two 
days he seemed to have shrunk so that his usually 
well-fitting clothes hung on him loosely. 

“Everything can be discussed in a quiet busi- 
ness-like way,” said Lord Flanborough. “I am 
very sorry that you have this loss. It is by no 
means certain that it is a loss, but business is 
business — you cannot expect me to shoulder your 
responsibilities, my dear friend.” 

“It is your responsibility as well as mine,” 
stormed Ralph, jumping up from his chair and 
advancing upon the little man who stepped cau- 
tiously backward, “and I insist upon your accept- 
ing your share.” 

“Which would amount to?” suggested his lord- 
ship. 

“About seven hundred thousand pounds,” 
growled the other. 

“Seven hundred thousand pounds! Impossi- 
ble!” said Lord Flanborough emphatically. 

Ralph turned livid. 


252 


KATE PLUS 10 


“If you don’t,” he hissed, thumping his palm 
with his fist, “if you don’t — ” 

At that moment help came in the shape of 
Moya. She nodded coolly to Sir Ralph and 
crossed the room to her father. 

“There is no news of Michael,” she said. 

“Dear me,” sighed his lordship. 

“Michael !” sneered Ralph. “There is no news 
of the money ! That’s the important thing, 
Moya !” 

“We are not on the ‘Moya’ terms any more, Sir 
Ralph,” she said quietly. 

“Rub it in,” groaned the man. 

“I don’t want to rub it in. We all have our 
troubles, but some of us bear them less courage- 
ously than others. It won’t ruin you if you do 
lose all this money. You know you are enorm- 
ously rich.” 

“I am not going to lose,” said Sir Ralph dog- 
gedly; “your father has to bear his share.” 

“If father is responsible he will bear hi3 share,” 
said the girl, “but it is not by any means certain 
that he is responsible, is it, papa?” 


“BUSINESS IS BUSINESS’ 


253 


“Certainly not,” said Lord Flanborough, plac- 
ing a table between himself and his infuriated 
partner. 

There was a tap at the door and Sibble came in, 
somewhat furtively. 

He looked mysteriously at Moya and she went 
to him. 

“What is it, Sibble?” she asked. 

“There’s a man to see you, miss,” he said. “I 
think it is something very special.” 

“To see me? Who is he?” 

“I don’t know who he is, miss, but he has a 
very special message for you.” 

She went out into the hall. A respectable look- 
ing man stood hat in hand. By his thick coat 
she thought at first he was an omnibus driver. In 
a sense, she was right. 

“Are you Lady Moya Felton, madame?” 

“Yes,” said the girl. 

He handed her a card. She took it. It was 
a business card announcing that Messrs. Acton 
and Arkwright, contractors, were prepared to re- 
move anything from machinery to furniture and 


KATE PLUS 10 


254 

that they had a “larger number of motor lorries 
than any other firm doing business in the south 
of England.’’ 

“I am afraid there is a mistake,” she said. “I 
didn’t send for you.” 

“No, miss, we’ve brought the goods.” 

“The goods?” she said puzzled. 

He led the way to the door. 

Lining one side of the street and stretching 
from the house to the corner of Gaspard Place 
were ten motor lorries. 

“Here’s the name.” 

He turned the card over. 

“Lord Flanborough, Felton House, Grosvenor 
Avenue,” said the man reading it over her 
shoulder. 

“Have you any letter?” 

“No, miss, these are all the instructions I had. 
I was told to bring the chemicals to his lordship 
and ask for you.” 

“Chemicals?” she said. 

Her father had followed her to the door. 

“What is it?” he asked. 


“BUSINESS IS BUSINESS’ 


255 


“This man has brought some chemicals for 
you.” 

“Oh, nonsense, there is some mistake,” said Lord 
Flanborough. “I am not a chemist.” 

He went down the steps with the girl to the 
first lorry. She looked inside and apparently it 
was empty. 

“What is it you have brought?” she asked in 
surprise. 

“There they are, miss, on the floor.” 

And then she saw a number of packages 
wrapped in sacking. 

“They’re pretty heavy,” said the man, “con- 
sidering their size.” 

She reached out her hand and tried to draw one 
toward her. It defied her efforts. Lord Flan- 
borough tried and succeeded in moving it. Some- 
thing in its shape startled him. 

“Have you a knife?” he asked the man. 

The contractor produced a big clasp knife and 
opened it. 

“Be careful, my lord,” he warned, “they’re 
dangerous — ” 


256 


KATE PLUS 10 


But Lord Flanborough had ripped the canvas 
package and exposed a dull yellow ingot. He 
dropped the knife and stepped back. 

“How many wagons are there 4 ?” he asked 
huskily. 

“Ten, sir. They’ve all got the same number 
of packages — and are we to take them to the 
Docks?” 

Lord Flanborough made a rapid calculation. 

“Take them into the basement and put them 
into the coal cellar,” he said and went up the 
steps two at a time and back into his study. 

Sir Ralph was still waiting. The rudeness of 
his host neither increased nor decreased his irri- 
tation. 

Lord Flanborough stepped up to him briskly. 

“Look here, Sapson,” he said. “What respon- 
sibility do you want me to bear in the matter of 
this gold?” 

“I want you to bear half.” 

“I will do more than that,” said his lordship. 
“I will assume the whole responsibility for two 
hundred thousand pounds.” 


“BUSINESS IS BUSINESS” 


257 


Ralph swung round. 

“You will?” he said incredulously. 

“I will.” 

“Done,” said Sir Ralph and pulled out his 
cheque book. 

He wrote quickly and nervously but quite legi- 
bly enough and handed the slip to Lord Flan- 
borough, what time his lordship was writing with 
more leisure but no less excitement on the other 
side of the table. 

“There’s your cheque,” said Sir Ralph. 

“And there’s my note freeing you from re- 
sponsibility,” said his lordship. 

“I am sorry I have been so unpleasant,” said 
the baronet wiping his steaming brow, “but you 
will understand.” 

“I quite understand,” said Lord Flanborough. 

“Business is business,” said Ralph. 

“Business is business,” repeated his lordship 
and folding the cheque slipped it into his pocket. 


CHAPTER XVI 


ON THE UNMORALITY OF PROFESSIONAL 
THIEVES 

The main building of what had once been Bolt- 
over’s Cement Works consisted of four high walls 
and a slate roof. Here had stood the wash mills 
and the revolving knives which had reduced the 
clay and mud from the nearby river into slurry. 
Leading therefrom was the heating chamber and 
the kiln house. There was no trace of mill, 
though the kilns still stood. 

All the machinery had been removed, the con- 
crete floor strengthened and the only engine visible 
was a great Atlantic locomotive which had stood 
with steam up day and night before the wreckage 
of two trucks. In each of these was a rough cir- 
cular hole and the blistered paint and the drops 

of metal which hung upon the edge or had trickled 
258 


PROFESSIONAL THIEVES 259 

down its blackened side, told of the terrific heat 
which had been employed to break through the 
steel walls. 

Near one wall were a number of small pack- 
ages neatly stitched in canvas and ready for re- 
moval, and on these sat Mr. Mulberry, the 
benignity of whose countenance was somewhat 
discounted by the fact that a loaded rifle lay across 
his knees. Leading from the main building was 
a small office approached through a steel door 
and in this were seated the seven guiding spirits 
of the great raid, Francis Stockmar, Gregori, 
Colonel Westhanger, Colling Jacques, Thomas 
Stockmar, Mr. Cunningham and Kate. 

Gregori was talking. He leant across the 
table, his hands lightly clasped, his head on one 
side turned to the girl who sat opposite to him 
and a little to his right. 

“I think, Kate, we finish here,” he was saying. 
“Crime Street is getting a little too warm.” 

“I didn’t expect you to lose your nerve,” she 
said. 

“I’m not losing my nerve,” he said with a scowl. 


260 


KATE PLUS 10 


“I am afraia of losing my life, if you want to 
know the truth. We are watched all the time. 
They know you are out of town and are searching 
for you.” 

“They found me,” said the girl coolly. “I am 
staying at Brighton.” 

“We have made a big haul and it will take us 
a year to get rid of it,” Gregori went on, “but 
when we have got rid of it, we shall have enough 
to settle down.” 

“But why do you want to settle down?” she 
asked. 

“My dear Kate,” said her uncle querulously, 
“don’t ask absurd questions. You know there is 
no reason in the world why we should not settle 
down. We have enough money.” 

“Exactly what do you mean by settling down?” 
she insisted. “I am not being sarcastic. I merely 
want information. You have taught me that it 
is the game and not the prize that is worth while. 
That has been my life’s teaching. Why, you told 
me if you were a millionaire,” she looked at her 
uncle under her bent brows, “nothing would in- 


PROFESSIONAL THIEVES 


261 


duce you to be £ dull and honest.’ Those were 
your words.” 

“My dear child,” said Colonel Westhanger, 
“I have told you lots of things which have to be 
interpreted in a liberal spirit. We have had all 
the fun we want and now we will — ” 

He was at a loss in his desire to avoid a tau- 
tological repetition of a certain phrase. 

“Settle down,” she suggested; “be dull and 
honest ?” 

“But, surely, Kate,” said Gregori impatiently, 
“you don’t want to be a hunted beast all your 
life?” 

“Why not?” she asked in astonishment. “It 
is just as much fun being hunted as hunting. 
You have said that a score of times. Does 
Michael Pretherston — ” 

“Oh, hang Michael Pretherston,” said Gregori. 

“Does Michael Pretherston,” she went on, “get 
as much fun out of chasing me, as I get out of 
escaping him? Does Michael Pretherston find 
the same exhilaration of mind in following on my 
tracks as I find in keeping ahead of him?” 


262 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Anyway,” said Gregori. “I have had enough 
of it and I want to go out of the business and I 
advise you to do the same. And there is another 
thing, Kate — ” 

He looked at the Colonel for support, but Col- 
onel Westhanger found it convenient at that 
moment to be staring at the skylight. 

“What is the other thing 4 ?” she asked. 

“Well, you know I am fond of you,” he said, 
“and I want to — ” he floundered. 

“Settle down,” she suggested innocently; “what 
is all this ‘settling down’ that everybody loves 
so much? Does it mean we shall never plan an- 
other great coup?” She leant her elbows on the 
table. “Hoilestly, I am not being wilfully dense. 
I know money is useful, because it helps one to 
prepare the way for making more money, but I 
have not been in this,” she waved her hand, “in 
all these things for money. I told Michael Pre- 
therston so and he believed me.” 

“What have you been telling Michael Prether- 
ston?” asked Gregori suspiciously. 

“I told him that,” she said simply. 


PROFESSIONAL THIEVES 


263 


“But, my dear girl,” said her uncle, “fun and 
excitement and all that sort of thing are well 
enough in their way, but you don’t mean to tell 
me, at this hour, that you have not been working 
for the ‘stuff’ ?” 

“I will tell you as much at this or any other 
hour,” she answered immediately. 

“I see,” said Gregori with a faint smile, “then 
really you are what I would call a criminal artist 
— art for art’s sake, eh?” 

“I mean that,” she said again. “One must not 
judge one’s successes by the amount of money one 
has made.” 

“That is how I joodge it,” said the thick voice 
of Francis Stockmar; “so much mooney, so much 
sugsess, isn’t it?” 

“I tell you frankly,” said Gregori. “I am in 
this for the money and so is your uncle. We 
have taken many risks, some of us have been 
caught and some of us,” he said significantly, 
“have been lucky. I’ve got thirty years in front 
of me, with any luck, and so I am going to — ” 

“Settle down,” suggested Kate ironically. 


KATE PLUS 10 


“I am going to quit.” 

“Come, come, be sensible, Kate,” said the Col- 
onel, patting her on the shoulder. “You have 
been a very good girl and we owe you almost 
everything we have. I am sure everyone agrees 
that you have been the brains of our — er — 
association. The only time ^en any of us have 
been caught is when we have gone out on a side 
line of our own. Now leave well alone.” 

“When hunters have caught the fox,” she said, 
“do they leave well alone and never hunt again? 
In war, when a soldier comes through a battle 
safely, does he leave well alone and never go 
into action again? Does the huntsman who is 
nearly caught by a lion leave well, and lions, 
alone?” 

“This is different,” said her uncle doggedly. 

“But I don’t understand it. If what you say 
is right, then I am wrong and have been wrong 
all my life. I am wrong and the police are right.” 

“Of course, they’re right,” said Gregori; “what 
rubbish you are talking.” 


PROFESSIONAL THIEVES 


265 


“The police are right?” she asked in open- 
eyed astonishment. 

“Of course they are right. They must pro- 
tect society. In five years’ time, when I am 
settled on my little estate in Spain and my house 
is burgled do you imagine I shall not call in the 
police?” 

“I know they are right in their way,” she said, 
as if she were speaking her thoughts aloud, “but 
we are right, too.” 

“We cannot both be right,” said Colonel West- 
hanger. 

“I asked you some time ago,” she said, turning 
to him, “which was the better life — the dull life 
or ours. They cannot both be better. The 
elementary conditions cannot change. That life 
must be the best, or ours.” 

“That life is best,” said the Colonel decisively. 

She looked at him steadily. 

“Then why have you let me live this?” she 
asked. “You cannot change me. I cannot 
change. I cannot !” she said with vehemence and 


266 KATE PLUS 10 

the men noted with amazement the emotion she 
displayed. “Nothing can change me!” 

Gregori reached out and took her hand, but she 
snatched it away. 

“I will tell you what can change you, little 
girl,” he said undeterred by the rebuff, “love can 
change you. Give me a chance.” 

She looked at him and laughed in his face. 

“Will you be good or bad, honest or dishonest 4 ? 
You will only be a half man, living two lives. 
Marry you ! And am I to go into witness boxes 
to testify against your burglar 4 ? And prosecute 
your poachers? I am living now, what I believe 
to be the truth. I believe I have the right to 
match my wits against the world and take, by my 
intelligence, what the old robber barons took by 
brutal strength. If I pass to the other side I 
should be a liar, living a life in which I did not 
believe. I am going on.” 

“Then you will go on by yourself.” 

“Will I?” she asked softly. 

“Go out and find somebody who thinks as you 
think if you can,” sneered Gregori; “you will be 


PROFESSIONAL THIEVES 


267 


obliged to live a lie, anyway. You will never 
meet a man who believes in stealing, who believes 
in fraud and who will go on so believing, until 
he is an old man. You will never meet a man 
on the other side of life who would trust you if 
he knew you, and he would know you unless you 
— went on lying.” 

He laughed. 

“You are in a cleft stick, my little friend, and 
if you take my tip you will stick to the friends 
who know you.” 

He laughed again. 

“Suppose I come down into Spain and burgle 
your house — ” her eyes lit up — “and I would do 
it ! Or, suppose, when you have — settled down — 
and when you have all deposited your symbols of 
success in your banks, I planned a little coup and 
smashed your banks? I could do it easily and I 
would do it,” she said. “What would you do?” 

Their faces were a study. The Colonel was 
stroking his white moustache. Francis Stockmar 
was scowling horribly. Mr. Cunningham was 
Staring blankly at the opposite wall, 


268 


KATE PLUS 10 


“Naturally you would not play such a low- 
down trick upon your old friends,” said the Col- 
onel soothingly; “nobody believes you would, 
Kate. I mean, it would be tragic for some of us, 
after spending years of our lives accumulating a 
little nest egg to find we had become beggars in 
a night. Of course, speaking personally, I should 
consider myself exonerated from any responsibility 
I had in regard to our relationship and I should 
have to tell the police — ” 

“You would call the police, too, would you? 
Would you, Stockmar?” 

“Yas,” said the stolid Austrian, “of goorse. 
The mooney to recover, ain’t it?” 

“And you?” 

“I don’t think you would do anything so 
treacherous,” said Mr. Cunningham; “naturally, 
we would not take that sort of thing lying 
down.” 

“Naturally,” said Colling Jacques, “the whole 
matter is this, when we go back to the respectable 
world and obey the laws, we, as citizens, are en- 
titled to the protection which the laws give us f ” 


PROFESSIONAL THIEVES 


269 


“I see. You are, so to speak, touching wood. 
The wood is the law.” 

“That is it,” he said. 

Kate got up and walked to the one winaow 
of the room and looked out upon the dreary 
yard with its tangle of twisted machinery, 
its rusted boilers, its chaos of rotting cement 
bags. 

“Well, you can all do as you like,” she turned 
on them, “but I tell you this, that if you think 
you are going to — settle down — at my expense, 
and if you think I have been planning and schem- 
ing and play-acting and lying in order that you 
might all become respected parish councillors, you 
have made a mistake. You talk about my 
friends, if you are my friends, God help me! 
There is one man in the world who is worth the 
whole crowd of you.” 

She was interrupted by a crash as though a 
heavy body had been thrown against a door. 
Somebody fumbled with the lock and Gregori 
jumped up and threw it open. They half carried, 
half pushed a gagged and bound man through the 


no 


KATE PLUS 10 


doorway. Behind him peered the saturnine, 
malignant face of his captor, Doctor Garon. 

“Got him,” he said triumphantly. 

“Who is it 4 ?” asked Gregori, staring at the half 
conscious man. 

The girl did not ask. She went suddenly cold, 
for she knew it was Michael Pretherston. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE INDEPENDENT STRATEGY OF SENOR 
GREGORI 

It is a fact worth remarking upon, that in all her 
career, though she had been associated with the 
most desperate of criminals, and though she had 
been surrounded on all sides by men who would 
stop at nothing to gain their ends, Kate had never 
witnessed an act of violence. Such arrests of 
members of the confederation as she had seen had 
been very humdrum affairs. The arrival of two 
strangers, a consultation carried on in a low tone 
by a pleasant detective officer, an urgent call to 
somebody to “get my hat” and the disappearance, 
very often for a long time, of the member affected. 
She had never seen a fellow creature man-handled 
nor did she believe that there was in her confeder- 
ates the tigerish malignity which was now dis- 
271 


272 


KATE PLUS 10 


played. She looked from face to face in amaze- 
ment and horror as they crowded round the 
handcuffed figure and flung him into a chair. 

Michael had been choked to insensibility at the 
first attack. With the loosening of the rope, he 
had recovered consciousness and put up a fight, 
and had been hammered back to insensibility by 
the three men who had watched him from the 
moment he had crossed the open ground to the east 
of the railway, and had lain in wait for him. 
They had manacled him with his own handcuffs. 
This he realized, as he came back to consciousness, 
with his head throbbing and every bone in his 
body aching. 

He leant his elbows on the table and buried his 
face in his hands, striving to collect his thoughts. 
It was the cold steel of the handcuff against his 
nose which was the starting point from whence 
he unravelled the situation. The blow which had 
felled him had fortunately been broken by his soft 
felt hat and he raised his hand and gingerly felt 
the bump which Dr. Garon’s loaded cane had 
raised. 


STRATEGY OF SENOR GREGORI 273 


“Now then, wake up,” said Gregori’s voice 
roughly, “let’s have a look at you.” 

Michael raised his head and looked at the 
speaker. 

“Hello, Gregori,” he said dully. He looked 
round the room and caught the girl’s eyes and for 
a moment held them. 

“You seem to have tumbled into it, my young 
friend,” said Colonel Westhanger. 

Michael slowly shifted his eyes to the speaker 
and smiled. 

“We all seem to have tumbled into it, you worse 
than anybody. This means a life sentence for 
you, Colonel.” 

The old man’s face went white. 

“It is only bluff,” said Garon; “he is here by 
himself. I have been watching him for an hour. 
You tried to pull off the job on your lonely!” 

“Alone,” said the Colonel and the girl watch- 
ing him saw his face go hard. “Alone ! Are you 
sure 4 ?” 

“Absolutely sure,” said the doctor. 

He sat straddle-legged on a chair leaning on 


274 


KATE PLUS 10 


the back and puffing the cigar he had just 
lighted. 

“It would be rather a serious business if you had 
made a mistake, wouldn’t it?” drawled Michael. 
He was recovering his scattered senses and some- 
thing of his good spirits. “You fellows had bet- 
ter make the best of a bad job.” 

“What is your idea of the best of a bad job,” 
sneered Gregori, — “to take the handcuffs off you 
and put them on me and the Colonel? If it 
means a ‘lifer’ for the Colonel ! what does it mean 
for me? You don’t suppose I am going back to 
Dartmoor to build walls for the moor farmers, do 
you?” 

“What is the alternative?” asked Michael. 

“I’ll tell you what is the alternative,” hissed 
the other thrusting his face into the detective’s, 
“it is the only alternative that will give me any 
satisfaction — and it is to put you out.” 

“Dot is id,” nodded Stockmar. 

The girl’s heart almost stopped beating and for 
a moment she closed her eyes and gripped tight 
to the edge of the table. She felt physically sick 


STRATEGY OF SENOR GREGORI 275 


and her knees were trembling under her. Fortu- 
nately their attention was fully occupied with 
Michael and nobody noticed that she had grown 
of a sudden peaked and grey. She bit her lips 
and by sheer effort of will regained control of her- 
self. She looked at Michael : that little smile of 
his still played about the corners of his mouth 
and the eyes that were lifted to Colling Jacques 
were full of good humor. 

“It is you or us, Pretherston,” the engineer was 
saying; “you don’t suppose we have been work- 
ing for this stuff and taken all the risk, only to 
see ourselves standing in the dock of the Old 
Bailey ?” 

“Winchester,” corrected the detective, “it is a 
very pretty assize court — the vaulted ceiling will 
appeal to you, Jacques. It is in the Gothic 
style.” 

“One moment,” said the Colonel suddenly. 

With a nod he called the men to a corner of 
the room and for five minutes there was a whis- 
pered consultation. The girl and Michael were 
left alone and obeying some impulse which she 


276 


KATE PLUS 10 


could not define, she suddenly turned her back 
upon him and walked to the window, a proceed- 
ing which Gregori noticed out of the corner of his 
eye. Presently the little conference broke up and 
the Colonel came back with the others. 

“Look here, Pretherston, I am going to make 
a proposition to you. You are not a rich man, 
I take it.” 

“My private affairs don’t concern you,” said 
Michael calmly, “and I certainly am not prepared 
to discuss them with you.” 

“This job is worth two and a half millions and 
there are ten of us in it. Help us to make a get- 
away and there is not far short of a quarter of a 
million for you.” 

The girl swung round and looked at Michael. 
How would he take this offer? She knew how 
great was the appeal which money made to men, 
especially money easily earnt. She waited in 
breathless, almost painful, suspense. 

“Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds,” 
said Michael — “that is a lot of money. But, why 
do you put such a proposition to me?” 


STRATEGY OF SENOR GREGORI 277 


“It is a lot of money/’ repeated the Colonel 
significantly. 

Michael laughed. 

“I suppose there was a time in your life,” he 
drawled, “when if somebody had offered you 
money to do a dishonest act, you would have 
knocked him down? But perhaps there never 
was such a time,” he said, searching the other’s 
face. 

“I no more want to discuss my affairs, than you 
want to discuss yours,” said the Colonel gruffly; 
“here is the proposition,” he thumped the table, 
“do you take it?” 

Michael shook his head. 

“I won’t be rude to you,” he said, “because you 
are an older man and because you are going to 
end your life rather miserably in a very short 
time.” 

He saw the man wince. 

“I am not saying that with the object of of- 
fending you,” Michael continued. “I am just 
telling you what is the truth. Suppose you get 
away from here, how are you going to make your 


278 


KATE PLUS 10 


escape from England? By this time every port 
is closed to you.” 

“I will tell you how we are going to get out 
of England,” said Gregori, “we are going to leave 
by the only route possible, by ship from Lon- 
don.” 

“By ship from London?” it was the surprised 
voice of the girl. 

“We have done a little planning on our own, 
Kate,” said Gregori with a grin ; “this is our last 
job. We didn’t tell you because we didn’t think 
it was worth while upsetting you. Everything 
was arranged last week.” 

“Without my knowledge,” she said. 

He nodded. 

“What do you say, Pretherston? It is your 
last chance.” 

“It isn’t my last chance,” said the other cheer- 
fully. 

“What do you mean?” 

“That you will find out,” said Michael with a 
sudden sternness. “I warn you that your time is 
very short,” 


STRATEGY OF SENOR GREGORI 279 


“Your time will be shorter,” said Gregori with 
a sinister smile. 

“We will give him half-an-hour to think over 
it,” suggested Jacques; “put him in the engine 
room.” 

The engine room was the uncomfortable little 
shed which had been built on to the mixing shop 
to accommodate a dynamo. It was now empty 
save for a truckle bed on which one of the gang 
had slept. Padlocked iron doors led to the mixing 
room and to the outer world, but to make doubly 
sure, Garon volunteered to stand outside the build- 
ing and keep guard. Michael was thrust into the 
little room and the door slammed upon him. 

“Now,” said Gregori when they were back again 
in the office, “we have to decide and decide 
quickly. If we can be sure that this fellow is 
alone he has got to be killed.” 

“Killed 4 ?” said Kate. “Oh, no, no!” 

He turned on her with a snarl. 

“This is our job. You keep out of this, Kate,” 
he said. “I tell you it must be done, for all our 
sakes.” 


280 


KATE PLUS 10 


“The first thing,” said the Colonel, “is to get 
the gold away.” 

“It will be loaded on to the trucks to-morrow 
morning,” said Gregori, “and we had better keep 
this fellow alive until it is gone.” 

“Are we using our own trucks?” 

Gregori shook his head. 

“Oh, no,” he said, “that would be too danger- 
ous. I have hired ten, from a man in Eastbourne 
who is used to handling machinery. He has no 
idea what sort of factory this is and I have told 
him it is a preparation of lead we are shipping to 
the docks. Y oung Stockmar will meet the convoy 
in London. Our own men are on board the ship 
and will load the stuff.” 

“It is a bit risky,” said Colling Jacques shaking 
his head, “sending all that money through London 
without a guard.” 

“It would be more risky to guard it,” said the 
other calmly, “our only chance lies in not rousing 
the suspicion of the contractor who has promised 
to come down himself to superintend the carriage 
to the docks. His people won’t be allowed to 


STRATEGY OF SENOR GREGORI 281 


handle any of it and I have told him especially 
that it is dangerous to touch the packages — now, 
Kate, you must be sensible about this business of 
Pretherston.” 

She shrugged her shoulders and leant back 
against the window-sill, her hands behind her. 

“I suppose it is necessary, 1 ” she said in her cool 
even tone and the Colonel heaved a sigh of re- 
lief. 

“Gad, that’s the way to look at it, my girl,” 
he said admiringly. “I knew you wouldn’t fail 
us.” 

She said nothing. 

“You said there were ten shares,” she asked 
presently, “do you count me — as one who is shar- 
ing 1 ?” 

“You stand in with me, my dear,” said the 
Colonel, patting her on the shoulder, “don’t you 
be afraid. I have never denied you anything, 
have I?” 

She shook her head. 

“I have never been aware that you denied me 
anything,” she said absently. 


KATE PLUS 10 


282 

“When is this — ” she could not find words to 
complete the sentence. 

“Pretherston,” said Gregori, — “oh, we can’t do 
anything yet. I think you will agree, Colonel. 
We must make absolutely sure that he is not being 
followed and that he has not half the Metropoli- 
tan police force within call. I shall do nothing 
at all till to-morrow night.” 

She inclined her head. 

“I see,” she said simply and then, “I think I 
will go to my room.” 

They had made her comfortable quarters in 
what had been once the foreman’s office. She 
passed through the great sheds slowly and stopped 
for a moment to look at the powerful engine which 
stood near the closed doors, a tiny feather of steam 
at its safety valve, then she went into her room. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE COLONEL WAS A GENTLEMAN AT 
THE LAST 

It was ten o’clock the following morning before 
any of the gang saw the girl. She had spent a 
sleepless night revising her philosophies and ar- 
ranging the future as she saw it. 

Mulberry who had put away his rifle and was 
appearing in the capacity of an urbane general- 
manager greeted Kate with a nod. 

He was superintending the transference of the 
ingots to the waiting trolleys which stood on the 
road at the top of the chalk pit and were ap- 
proached by a zig-zag path which had been cut 
in the face of the bluff by the original owner of 
the property. 

Later Mr. Mulberry climbed up the path to 
interview the stout contractor. 

“I will pay you in advance,” said Mr. Mul- 
283 


KATE PLUS 10 


284 

berry beaming benevolently and producing a wad 
of notes from his pocket book. “You have full in- 
structions as to where these packages are to go?” 

“Yes, sir,” said the man. “To the Thames 
Docks and I am to hand them over to the gentle- 
man who engaged me the day before yesterday.” 

“Mr. Stockmar,” said Mulberry. 

“That is the name, sir. Are these things valu- 
able?” 

Mulberry shook his head. 

“Scientifically they are of the greatest value, 
commercially they are of no value. You have 
probably heard of dioxide of lead, the heaviest 
metal that the earth holds?” 

“I can’t say that I have, sir,” said the con- 
tractor frankly. “I am not much of a scientist.” 

“It is a very useful element,” lied Mr. Mul- 
berry glibly, “in the creation of paper. It is 
highly inflammable but not explosive so long as 
it is handled by experts like my men here,” he 
waved his hand to the procession of swarthy 
labourers who were coming up the hill, each bear- 
ing a package on his shoulder. 


A GENTLEMAN AT THE LAST 285 


“They are Italians, aren’t they, sir?” 

Mr. Mulberry nodded. 

“They are the only people who can handle this 
chemical,” he explained. 

“I see, sir,” said the master carman wisely, 
“some of these foreigners are wonderful chaps with 
chemicals.” 

He looked down into the hollow. 

“Mighty nice young lady that, sir,” he said 
respectfully, not knowing whether Kate, who had 
just emerged from the building and was wander- 
ing aimlessly across the yard, was an employee or 
a friend. 

“Oh, yes, that is my confidential secretary,” 
said Mr. Mulberry. 

“Mighty nice, if I may be allowed to say so, 
very lady-like.” 

“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Mulberry. 

He lingered long enough to see the last pack- 
ages laid on the floor of the last truck, shook hands 
with the contractor with great affability and strode 
nonchalantly down the slope and none to see him 
would have imagined that he had jpst entrusted 


286 


KATE PLUS 10 


nearly three million pounds' worth of gold, to the 
tender mercies of a chance carman. 

He was half way down the first of the slopes 
when he met Kate coming up. 

“Kate," he said in a low voice, “if you are 
going up to the top and that fellow asks you who 
you are, you must tell him you are my confidential 
secretaty. I hope you don't mind, I had to ex- 
plain you." 

She nodded and continued her slow walk until 
she came to the road. The cars were now buzzing 
preparatory to making a start. The contractor, 
whom she had met before, gave her a cheery nod. 

“Have you a piece of paper 4 ?" she asked. 

“I've a card, miss," he said. 

“That will do," she said; “lend me your pen- 
cil." 

She wrote a few lines and handed them to the 
man. 

“I am the managing director’s confidential sec- 
retary," she said. 

“I know, miss," replied the man. 

He looked at the card with a frown. 


A GENTLEMAN AT THE LAST 287 


“You are to take the trucks first of all to this 
address and see the gentleman whose name I have 
written.” 

“But I was told to go straight to the docks.” 

She smiled and nodded. 

“I know,” she said, “but my chief thinks you 
had better go here. His lordship will either ac- 
company you to their destination or he may store 
your chemicals for the night.” 

He looked at the address. 

“The Earl of Flanborough,” he read; “sup- 
pose he isn’t there, miss?” 

This was a contingency which she had over- 
looked. 

“Ask for Lady Moya Felton — that is his 
daughter,” she said; “you had best see her first 
in any circumstances.” 

“I see, miss,” said the man a little impressed. 
“I know his lordship. I have often seen him at 
Seahampton.” 

“Now I think you had better go,” said Kate, 
“before you receive any fresh instructions.” 

The man chuckled, swung himself into the seat 


288 


KATE PLUS 10 


of the second car beside the driver and first one 
and then the other of the great lorries, moved 
slowly down the white road. She watched them 
until the last one had passed the crest of the hill, 
then she slowly descended the zig-zag path. 

She met Gregori in the doorway. 

“Where have you been, Kate*?” he demanded. 

“I have been to see the loot off,” she said flip- 
pantly. 

“The less you are seen, the better,” he grum- 
bled. “I told that ass, Mulberry, not to let the 
man catch a glimpse of you. Don’t go in, I want 
to talk to you.” 

He was ill at ease and evidently found it diffi- 
cult to make a beginning. 

“You know, Kate, I am very fond of you,” he 
said. 

“You have every reason to be.” 

“I still have,” he said. 

“I am not so sure of that,” she interrupted, 
“but go on.” 

“What do you mean by that?” he asked sus- 
piciously. 


A GENTLEMAN AT THE LAST 289 

“Go on,” she demanded; “where does your 
fondness lead?” 

“It leads to your marrying me,” he said; “your 
uncle does not object and we will be married as 
soon as we reach South America.” 

“South America !” she stared at him. “So that 
is our destination, is it?” she said slowly. “And 
I am to marry you when we arrive, by arrange- 
ment with my uncle?” 

“That’s about the size of it,” replied Gregori. 

“And suppose I make other arrangements?” 

“There are no other arrangements you can 
make,” he said with easy confidence; “the fact 
is, Kate, that you have to drop these high and 
mighty manners of yours. We stood them very 
well because it paid us to stand them, I suppose. 
But we are all in the same boat — and shall be 
literally.” He laughed aloud at the sally. 
“You hold some queer views, you know, and we 
can’t afford to let you run loose.” 

She jerked up her head and turned abruptly 
away and would have left him but he caught her 
by the arm and pulled her back. 


290 


KATE PLUS 10 


“When I say you must marry me,” he said, “I 
mean just what I say.” 

“Have I a voice in this arrangement?” she 
asked, slowly disengaging her arm. 

“You have a voice in it if you agree. You 
have no voice if you cut up rough.” 

“I see,” she said. “I will think about it. 
This is not a decision which I can arrive at in a 
minute.” 

She went to her room and locked the door. 

At five o'clock that evening her uncle came for 
her. 

“Have you been to sleep?” he asked. 

It was curious, she thought, how the manner 
and even the tone of these men had changed in 
the past few hours. She was so used to an atti- 
tude of deference, almost sycophantic, which they 
ordinarily displayed, that the change had come in 
the nature of a shock. And there was a change. 
Even her uncle had dropped his mask of good- 
nature and now treated her as a child, and a child 
that needed to be disciplined. 

“I have been thinking,” she said. 


A GENTLEMAN AT THE LAST 291 

He grunted something and walked back with 
her to the office. 

“This fellow, Michael Pretherston, has to be 
settled with. Do you understand that?” 

“Yes,” she replied. 

“The cars will be on the road in half an hour 
and you and I will be the first to leave.” 

“Do you think so?” 

“What do you mean?” he asked sharply. “I 
warn you, Kate, that I am not going to stand any 
monkey tricks from you.” 

To this she made no answer but pushed at the 
iron door that led to the meeting place and en- 
tered. To her surprise, Michael was present. In 
addition to his handcuffs his arms had been drawn 
back by the insertion of a short stick and secured 
with ropes. Gregori was sitting on the table and 
made no attempt to stand up, which was another 
piece of .evidence that the hold she thought she 
had over these men had gone, if it had ever ex- 
isted. 

“Kate, you can use your persuasion on this fel- 
low,” said Gregori wearily; “it is his last chance. 


KATE PLUS 10 


292 

He has had a night to think it over and he’s still 
obstinate.” 

The girl walked up to the detective. 

“Michael,” she said softly, “would nothing in- 
duce you to become — one of us*?” 

“Nothing,” he said. 

“Nothing that we could give you — that I could 
give you?” 

He looked at her steadily. 

“Nothing that I would take from you at that 
price,” he said quietly. 

“Don’t you love your life?” 

“ ‘As dearly as any alive,’ ” quoted Michael. 

“Don’t you love anything in the world? Isn’t 
there a girl?” she asked with a little break in her 
voice. 

He nodded. 

“There is a girl,” he said and looked past her. 

It seemed as though an icy hand had gripped 
her heart and for a while she could not frame the 
next question. 

“Isn’t she worth it?” she said, recovering her 
balance at last. 


A GENTLEMAN AT THE LAST 293 

“She is worth many things,” said Michael, “but 
not that.” 

She looked down at the floor. 

“Poor girl,” she said. 

“Having tried sentiment,” sneered Gregori, 
“we will now try a little practical argument — 
Pretherston you have got about an hour to 
live.” 

“I shall die in very bad company,” said Michael 
with a wry face. “I had hoped at the least that 
I might die at the hands of a lawful hangman, 
as you will die. To be butchered by a cheap cut- 
throat half-breed is not a pleasant prospect.” 

“Damn you,” said Gregori with passion and 
struck him in the face. 

He would have repeated the blow but the girl 
slipped between them. 

“Michael, you shall die in good company,” she 
said in so matter of fact a tone that none of them 
realized immediately what she was saying; “that 
is, if you think I am good company.” 

“What do you mean?” gasped the Colonel. 

“Why, I think you will kill me, too,” she said 


294 


KATE PLUS 10 


with a serenity which to Michael was wonderful, 
“because I have betrayed you all.” 

Garon came flinging through the door. 

“They haven’t turned up,” he screamed, “the 
wagons have gone.” 

“Gone,” said Gregori huskily, “gone where ?” 

“I have just been on the ’phone,” gasped the 
doctor; “they went to Lord Flanborough’s. He 
has got the stuff.” 

There was a dead silence broken by the girl. 

“They went to Lord Flanborough’s,” she re- 
peated nodding her head. “I know that. I sent 
them there.” 

The tension was dreadful, no man spoke, then 
suddenly Gregori swung round on the girl and his 
face was the face of a devil. 

“You !” he grated and leaped at her throat. 

In that one moment all the scattered atoms of 
race, of pride, of kinship united in the distorted 
brain of Colonel Westhanger. His lean arms shot 
out and Gregori fell headlong to the floor. 

“Back, you dog!” roared the old man. 

It was the last word he uttered. There was a 


A GENTLEMAN AT THE LAST 295 


stinging report from the floor and Colonel West- 
hanger fell limply across the table with a bullet 
through his heart. 

The girl who was half fainting with terror 
shrank back against the wall as Gregori rose, his 
still smoking pistol in his hand. 

“You are a prophet,” he said harshly; “you 
said you would die with Michael Pretherston and 
by God! you spoke the truth. Put them to- 
gether,” he said, “I want to think things out.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


MICHAEL DEVELOPED A FONDNESS FOR THE 
CRIMINAL CLASSES 

The girl rose up from the chair where she had 
been sitting and crossed to where Michael lay on 
the floor where they had thrown him. 

He looked up and smiled. 

“Why, Kate,” he said faintly, “always . . . 
meeting . . . you.” 

She sat down at his side and lifting his head 
laid it upon her lap. 

“That’s nice,” he murmured. 

“Why is it nice*?” she asked curiously, “because 
I make a softer pillow than the stone?” 

“That and something more,” he answered. 
“What more?” she insisted. 

“Oh — because it is you, I suppose,” he said 
vaguely. 

Her lips twitched in amusement. 

296 


MICHAEL DEVELOPED A FONDNESS 297 


“But it would be just the same if it were any 
other person,” she said, “wouldn’t it, Mike?” 

He looked up at her. 

“Put your hand on my forehead,” he said. 

“Like this?” 

She laid her soft palm against his throbbing 
head. 

“What does that do?” she asked after a long 
interval of silence. 

“It just makes my head better — don’t ask a lot 
of questions.” 

Her fingers stole down his face and she gently 
pinched his nose. 

“Oh, Kate,” he murmured sleepily, “I was just 
going to sleep.” 

“Then don’t,” she said, “what is the use of 
dozing — you’ll be dead soon and so will I.” 

She said this very calmly, in the same matter- 
of-fact tone in which she might have announced 
that there would be a roast chicken for din- 
ner. 

“I hope they kill you first,” she said thought- 
fully. 


298 


KATE PLUS 10 


“You’re a bloodthirsty little beggar,” said Mi- 
chael indignantly; “why do you wish that?” 

She shrugged her shoulders and went on press- 
ing back the hair from his forehead, never taking 
her eyes from his face. 

“I don’t know,” she said at last, “only I want 
to make sure that you’re gone and nobody else can 
have you — and then I shan’t care.” 

He did not move ; for a second she saw his eye- 
lids quiver, but he lay still staring past her to the 
dingy roof of the engine house. 

“Say that again,” he whispered. 

“Say what again? That I want you to be 
killed first?” she asked innocently. 

“Mike,” she said suddenly, “who was the 
girl?” 

“Which girl?” 

“You know,” she said, “the girl you — care 
about.” 

“Why, you of course,” he said in surprise. 

Her hands slipped down from his forehead cov- 
ering his eyes. 

“Say that again,” she mimicked. 


MICHAEL DEVELOPED A FONDNESS 299 


“You,” he repeated. “You see I am more 
obliging than you were.” 

“And you would not come in with us, not even 
for me?” 

“Not even for you.” 

She did not speak for some time. 

“How did you know we were here?” she asked. 

“I knew you could be nowhere else,” he said. 

“You are an awfully arrogant young man, 
aren’t you? Do you know how it was all done?” 

He nodded. 

“The train ran into the tunnel where you had 
a long motor-car mounted with flanged wheels 
and having three green lamps on the front and two 
red tail lamps behind. That was the ‘train’ 
which the signalman saw dashing through the rain 
and you had a horrible siren.” 

She laughed softly. 

“It was terrible, wasn’t it?” she admitted. “Do 
you remember that day you were in Crime Street? 
You heard it.” 

He recalled the uncanny sound which had then 
excited his curiosity. 


300 


KATE PLUS 10 


“When you got to the level crossing gates, the 
car was lifted off the rail and went on to the road. 
It followed the tram lines for some distance where 
it turned into a convenient garage, which I sup- 
pose you had already arranged for 4 ?” 

“That’s right,” she nodded. 

“The train went no farther than the tunnel*. 
It then backed on to a side track. Gregori had 
his Italian workmen ready and fixed up the buffer 
which had been dropped — you know the rest. 
The hole behind the buffer and the green scum — 
that was your idea, I suppose.” 

“It was cunning, wasn’t it, and did you see the 
rust I made?” 

“It is a fortunate thing you are dying young, 
Kate,” he said ; “you have a criminal mind.” 

“But I haven’t a criminal mind,” she protested; 
“it is a game, a sort of highly complicated jig- 
saw puzzle. Do you ever read detective sto- 
ries?” 

“Very seldom.” 

“But you have read them?” she persisted. 

“I have read one or two,” he confessed. 


MICHAEL DEVELOPED A FONDNESS 301 


“Did the men who wrote those have criminal 
minds? It was a game to them. It was a game 
to me. I know it is all wrong, horribly wrong, 
but I never thought I should realize that much. 
I thought nothing would turn me.” 

“And what has turned you?” he asked. 

She hesitated. 

“I don’t know what it is,” she said shaking her 
head. “It is a curious feeling that I get when I 
meet one man in the world. A feeling that makes 
my heart turn to ice and makes me tremble. That 
is all it is, Mike — how do you think they are go- 
ing to do it?” 

Her thoughts had gone back to the approaching 
end. 

“Heaven knows,” said Michael. “I haven’t 
any time to think of it. I am thinking of some- 
thing else. Why do they keep the steam up in 
that engine?” he asked. 

“It was Gregori’s idea,” she said; “he had the 
hole filled in to-day and the buffer taken down. 
He thought it might be useful to let the engine 
run on to the main line and block it. That is, if 


302 


KATE PLUS 10 


we had word that they were sending a lot of police 
down to search this part of the country.” 

“Here they are,” said Michael; “help me to sit 
up.” 

She raised him to a sitting position as the door 
opened and a dim figure appeared silhouetted 
against the dusk. It struck a match and lit a can- 
dle and Dr. Garon was revealed. He placed the 
candle carefully upon the floor just behind the 
half-closed door and passed slowly over to where 
Michael lay. 

“Well, my young sleuth,” he said pleasantly, 
“the best of friends must part.” 

“Fortunately,” said Michael, “I*do not fall 
into the category of your friends.” 

The doctor hummed a little tune as he took a 
small leather case from his pocket. 

“You have seen a hypodermic syringe before, 
I suppose 4 ?” he held up the tiny instrument. “I 
am going to give you a slight dope, which won’t 
hurt you.” 

“One moment,” said Michael, “do I understand 
that this dope is — final?” 


MICHAEL DEVELOPED A FONDNESS 303 


The doctor bowed. From his heightened col- 
our and his unsteady hand Michael guessed he had 
been drinking, either to give himself nerve for 
his task or to drown the memory of his misfor- 
tune. 

“Very good,” said Michael. He looked up at 
the girl and raised his face and Kate stooped and 
kissed him on the lips. 

“That is it, is it*?” said the doctor unpleas- 
antly. “Gregori will be pleased.” 

He caught the manacled wrists of the prisoner 
and pulled back his sleeve and the girl’s heart al- 
most ceased to beat. 

It was at that moment that the light went 
out. 

“Who is there*?” said the doctor releasing his 
grip on Michael’s arm and turning quickly. 

He took a groping step forward through the 
darkness. 

“Who’s there*?” he said again and they heard 
a soft thud followed by the sound that a body 
might make, when it struck the ground. 

Michael caught his breath. Suddenly a beam 


304 


KATE PLUS 10 


of light danced in the room and focused upon the 
prostrate figure of Dr. Garon. 

“Got him,” said a well-satisfied voice. 

“Barr,” whispered Michael, “where did you 
spring from?” 

“I came through the door,” said the voice. 
“Did you see it open. That is what knocked the 
candle over.” 

He flashed the light on his superior. 

“They have got the bracelets on you, sir,” he 
chuckled softly, took a key from his pocket and 
with a few deft turns released the other. His 
pocket knife finished the work. 

Michael stretched his cramped limbs. 

“I tried to get in last night but they had too 
many sentries — I couldn’t come here or get back 
to a telephone. I have been lying on that hill- 
side all last night and all to-day,” said Detective- 
Sergeant Barr. “I dared not move until it was 
dark. I tell you, sir, I had a bit of a fright. I 
thought they would get away.” 

“Have you a revolver?” asked his chief. 

The man slipped a weapon into his hand. They 


MICHAEL DEVELOPED A FONDNESS 305 


made their way softly back through the room 
where the engine was still smoking, through the 
little steel door of the office. It was empty save 
for a shrouded figure which lay beneath the table. 
There was a second door in the room. Michael 
tried this. It was locked. He heard voices and 
tapped at the door. 

“Who is there ?” said Gregori. 

“Open the door,” said Michael. 

“Who is there?” demanded Gregori again. 

“Open, in the name of the law,” said Michael. 

He heard a shuffle of feet and an oath and 
stood waiting, his pistol extended but the door did 
not open. A sudden silence came. 

“Is there any way out of here?” 

“There is a door leading into the shed where 
the engine is,” said the girl. She was white and 
trembling . . . that shrouded figure under the 
table had been the last straw. 

Michael dashed out into the shed but it was too 
late. 

As his feet crossed the foothold a bullet struck 
the steel door and ricochetted to the roof. In 


306 


KATE PLUS 10 


the dim light offered by an oil flare he saw Mul- 
berry and Stockmar hoisting the inanimate figure 
of Dr. Garon to the cab of the engine. He fired 
twice and Cunningham stumbled but was dragged 
into the cab. Then with a mighty “schuff!” 
which reverberated through the building the en- 
gine began to move toward the closed door. It 
gathered speed in the dozen yards or so it had to 
traverse and then with a crash it struck the gate, 
splintering and sending it flying. 

Michael flew the length of the shed and ar- 
rived at the outer gates in time to see the engine 
disappearing round the edge of the bluff. Barr 
was at his side and the two men stood helpless, 
as their enemies gradually receded into the grey 
dusk. 

“There is a telephone here,” said Michael 
quickly, “but it is probably laid for their own pur- 
pose.” 

“I left my motor-bike on the top of the hill 
somewhere, sir,” said Barr. 

“Get on to it,” said Michael. 

He stood listening to the sound of the locomo- 


MICHAEL DEVELOPED A FONDNESS 307 


tive going faster and faster. A hand touched his 
timidly. 

“Did they get away?” 

He slipped his arm round the girl. 

“I am afraid they have,” he said. 

He was turning back to the shed when the roar 
of an explosion set the building trembling. 

“What was that?” whispered the girl. 

They walked back to the end of the bluff. 
There was no need for him to speculate as to the 
direction from whence the explosion had come, 
for a bright red glow two miles away illuminated 
the whole countryside. 

“Something has happened to the engine.” he 
said. 

He did not know till an hour later that run- 
ning at full speed the Atlantic had dashed into a 
down goods train and that the blaze he witnessed 
was the blaze of a burning petroleum tank which 
the wrecked Atlantic had crushed in its death 
flurry. 

“We have not been able to recognize any of 


308 


KATE PLUS 10 


them,” said T. B. “Do you think Kate West- 
hanger was with them?” 

“Kate Westhanger is no more,” said Michael 
gravely, and he spoke the truth for Kate Prether- 
ston was at that moment on her way to France, 
where her husband intended joining her just as 
soon as his resignation was accepted. 

“But why give up the work, Michael?” said 
T. B. 

“I found, sir,” said Michael, “that it was sap- 
ping my moral qualities.” 

“Your moral qualities?” said his puzzled chief. 
“I didn’t know that you had any. What particu- 
lar form did the sapping take?” 

“I found, sir,” said Michael, “that I was de- 
veloping a fondness for the criminal classes.” 


THE END 














































J 


























































































































































































































































» 






































































. 


\\ 


■im III l 






/ 





■4 


' 

‘ 

































< 


























' 
















* 
















































